you suck karamatsu

Prolouge

  How long ago had they begun, and when had he allowed them to grow this big? When had he allowed them to consume his every waking minute, until those Godforsaken thoughts were all he knew? He felt hopeless, and he couldn't really put a name to his emotions.
Karamatsu Matsuno. That's who he was... Right? If that's who he was, then why didn't he feel like "himself"? Who was he, really? How long had he kept this façade alive? To the point where even he knew he was merely a shell of his former self. His brothers had, probably, noticed it long before him. That's when they stopped questioning it. It became normal.
Everyday, it was the same thing. Karamatsu gradually became less verbal, only speaking if his siblings directed themselves to him. (Which, in all honesty, wasn't very common anymore.) At a time, this would've angered him. Much like the day his little brother's beloved feline friend had gone missing. Why had they treated him differently? He, who was left in casts and bandages, was the one who was left being dealt with the same as always. He figured that where it started—or, in the least, when something in him had "clicked".

When he had arrived home, that night, no one seemed to notice. As usual. He sighed heavily, immediately making it up the stairs. He didn't have dinner. He wasn't hungry, anyway. He was just tired. As if the weight of a thousand Earths were on his shoulders. If he'd said that aloud, his brothers would probably have exclaimed words of feigned pain. He was tired of their mocking voices. He hated them.
Did he hate them? No. He couldn't. As much as he fucking wanted to, he couldn't hate them like he knew they hated him. Pitiful. Stupid. Painful. Why couldn't he hate them? Was it because they were his brothers? No... Of course it had to have some catch. Maybe it was that small hope that he had. A little morsel of faith in his siblings. He wanted them to love him. He desired it with all his being. And, no matter how much he wanted it—no matter how many stars he wished upon—he knew he'd never obtain what he wanted.
With that final thought, he locked himself in the bathroom and cried. He couldn't remember how long he stayed there, curled against a corner, his eyes swollen and red. His sniffles echoed throughout the small space, yet he knew no one heard him. Or they just pretended not to. The latter seemed more likely.
Deciding he'd spent enough time throwing a pity party for himself, he exited the bathroom and headed to their bedroom. They had already turned off the lights, in their house. Everything was silent, though he could hear the heavy beating of his heart filling the quiet home. The others could hear it. He wanted to silence himself. Shut himself off. He needed to stop himself from making so much noise.
Before he realized it, he was already in the bedroom. Everyone was asleep. Of course. They didn't even bother sorry for him, though that wasn't a very surprising observation. It was expected. So bitterly expected. He didn't even care to change into his pajamas. Matsuyo wouldn't be very happy with him in the morning. He was just... So tired. He couldn't find it in himself to walk over to the closet and remove his clothing, only to slip into another attire. He couldn't find the strength. All he wanted was to rest, that night. He didn't care. In all honesty, he couldn't even care less than he already did. All he wanted was the warmth of the futon.
Though his body was consumed by exhaustion, he found himself being restless. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get a single bit of shut-eye that night.

That was, probably, where it all started. Where was he, now? He didn't know. He didn't feel far from where he was, on that day. He probably slipped lower than that. Idiot. He could hear his thoughts repeating the insult, over and over. Like a fucking mantra. It was torture. Constant torture. But he hid it. He masked it all beneath that obviously fake smile of his. Disgusting.
He didn't want to believe this was his destined fate, but it was all he could see. As if he was walking in a forest with a dim lamp. No matter how far he walked, he was always in the same place. Always walking in circles. He was doomed to never leave the vicious cycle of self-loathing he'd created for himself. And no one would help him. There would never be anyone there to pull him free of that paradox. He just had to accept it.