Doubt

2.

Madara:

2 years previously

I put my key in the locker of our home. At twenty-one, I was yearning for my own home. Especially since...

I used to be happy here, but not anymore. Now, this place was infested with anxiety, with fear, with sleepless nights and antidepressants. Izuna... Why?

I went into the hallway and saw everything was dark, which meant Izuna wasn't home. God knew where he was. I checked my phone to see if he'd written, but of course he wouldn't have. I knew that. I walked through the grand hallway to go to the kitchen that was on the back of the house. Our parents were quite well-off so the house was large, airy, luxurious. I used to love it, but now the luxury mocked me. What is the point of luxury if you didn't have the health of the one you loved most?

I loved Izuna. I loved him with an indescribable, fierce passion. If I could have taken over his addiction, if me being addict meant Izuna would be clean, I would put one of his filthy syringes into my veins without even flinching. I would die if it meant he could get his normal life back.

Our parents were still at work, so I went to prepare some toast to snack on before dinner. "I'm making your favourite! Salmon with oven-roasted potatoes!" my mother had exclaimed in a giddy voice. God, I loved that woman. In the hell we lived in, she always made her best to cheer everyone up. I decided to make some apple crisp for dessert as thanks. I took my phone out and texted Izuna.

"Making apple crisp for dessert. Please come and have some. I love you so, so much."

I cried a little when I made my toast. My Izuna... My beautiful, beautiful Izuna. He used to be so full of life, always teasing me, so athletic and energetic, running so his long, black ponytail cascaded behind him like a vertical waterfall, laughing. Whereas I had to work hard for my grades, he got straight A's with ease. He had the greatest appetite I'd ever seen in anyone, and loved to bake. Now, he was way too thin, always ashen, always trembling with anxiety, his hair dull and matte. It was as if the syringes he used to inject didn't deliver drugs to his blood system, but rather sucked the life out of his soul. When I looked him into his eyes, they used to sparkle with mischief. Now, they were dead.

There was no-one there.

I went up with my plate of toast to my room to play some games online, and when I came up on the landing I saw, to my great surprise, that Izuna's door was closed. In our house, doors were only closed when they were inhabited. It wasn't a rule. It was just the way it was and always had been. I knocked tentatively.

"Izuna?" There was no answer. "Izuna, love, are you there?"

I opened the door.

I screamed.

I dropped my plate.

Ketchup and melted cheese spluttered all over the floor, mixed with the syringes, the tourniquets.

Mixed with the dead body of my little brother.

Present time

Hashirama:

I took a deep breath.

"You look lovely", my mother said, put a hand on my cheek. I took it and smiled at her.

"Thank you, mother", I said.

"We are all so proud of you!" She brushed off my navy blue suit jacket that I wore with grey suit pants, brown shoes and a creme-coloured shirt. My hair was fastened securely high up on the back of my head with a large clip.