Blossoms of the Dark Continued

CCI Selene: Scale

Trigger Warning:

- mention of abuse

- finger breaking

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March.

The month of the spring equinox in the Northern Hemisphere and the autumn equinox in the Southern.

Named after the Roman equivalent of the Greek god of war, the month marked the time of year when military campaigns that had been interrupted by winter were resumed.

My predicament could be more or less representative of that historical fact.

A metaphorical battle between Hanada-sama and I had begun ever since I became a villain. And during the past two months, I built an army, gathered supplies, prepared for attack right under his nose. This month, I hope to have the final touches ready so that with the blooming of the cherry blossoms in April, his dark secrets will be exposed.

One such final touch is being added right now: securing power in my domain.

Hanada-sama has invited both Daruma-san and Yotsubashi-san to the main office on the same day. Two strikes. He has even decided to speak to Aunt Ahearn after negotiating a deal. Three strikes. Ah, I am one lucky girl.

I am not appreciative of many of Hanada-sama's traits, but this one I can respect: not wasting time. As much as he would like to deny it, deep down he realizes that he does not have much time left. Just yesterday, he vomited blood. He had to be rushed to the hospital when his gag reflex failed, and he started choking. Doctors told us that the acetaldehyde levels in his bloodstream were concerningly high. In other words, Daruma-san's given drug has been more effective than I had anticipated. Just as well. The quicker everything happens, the sooner I can get rid of him.

The confidence almost gets to me. I have to cover my wicked grin behind my hand when Hanada-sama sprays cologne down his sides and into the air. He walks through the misty cloud, believing that the musky scent will overpower the stench of alcohol. He turns toward me and grumbles about what I am laughing at. I coolly tell him that it was a light cough.

He glares at me, unconvinced, before descending the elevator to wait in the common lounge for our guests to arrive.

Some time later, I excuse myself to use the restroom. Too busy reviewing the proposal packet in his lap, he waves a hand, ushering me to do as I wish.

There is a tag that has been itching me all day. I summon a knife and with the help of the mirror begin to cut the damned piece of cloth. Finally. I pull the label and glance at it. The brand name is that of the fashion company that came to take my measurements a few weeks ago. They sent me this ensemble as a sample until the orders were ready. No designer in their right mind would stitch such scratchy fabric on a suit. This work must have been that of the tailor who commented on my figure. After all, I made sure to leave a review to her superior after she left.

In one hand, flames incinerate the tag; in the other, the metal of the knife seeps back into my skin. My gloves leave no trace of either quirk having been used.

Much in the same way that my skin does not reveal the reddened skin from hard slaps. Shouto has mentioned on more than one occasion how I return to the dormitory every week like a living corpse. He is smart enough to deduce that it is the result of Hanada-sama's abuse, and though I remind him that it will all be over once he is out of my life, he is not relieved. Understandably, so.

I would never dare voice it out loud, but even I am tired of enduring his beatings. The ends justify the means. Sometimes, the means hurt. The means seem too costly.