N/A: RECOMMENDED THAT YOU LISTEN TO THE SONG WHILE YOU READ<3
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Chapter Twenty-Three
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Here's what happens after you manage to find the strength to out your uncle for the horrible things he's done to you:
First, you have to find the right words to say. You have to find the right time to say the words once you've found them, and then you have to actually say those words. Clumsily, your brain stumbles around words and thoughts and ideas, and you decide that maybe words aren't your best bet with such a tender situation. Besides, words have never been your strong suit anyway.
You go through your father's toolbox in the laundry room, the very toolbox he left after he told your mother they needed to take a break, and find a screwdriver. Not the flathead kind, but the kind that's almost shaped like a cone and divots line the side. Quietly and in the dark, your young mind mulls over what you're about to do. It mulls over the pain you're going to feel and the nasty scar you know is going to be left behind. Pain, you've always been good at handling pain, but you're not sure as to what the aftermath is going to be. How the people in your life are going to handle such news, or if they'll just clock you as unstable like your mother, and lock you up, unlike your mother who still gets to live in the world.
So you do it. You hold the screwdriver up to your face and you start to carve, carve, carve into your skin as your own final cry for help because you don't know how much longer you'll be able to endure such acts. So you carve
and you carve
and you carve
until blood starts to stain your shirt and hands; Until it starts to pool on the hardwood floor underneath you. Until it's all you can smell. In the deepest parts of your brain, you're hoping and praying this cry for help is taken seriously.
And it is. Your mother finds you. Moments before, she was yelling at you from down the hall because you needed to get your ass up and ready for dance practice, and then she's kneeling before you, holding your blood-covered face in your hands, asking you what the hell happened. She's close to tears; they pool her eyes and make the coral colour glisten.
You tell her everything. Everything her brother did to you during family gatherings and when he stayed the night at their house because his wife kicked him out for the night.
In her eyes, you see your reflection. Your messy blonde hair and the pieces of flesh hanging on by mere bits of skin. In her eyes, you watch as she slowly breaks apart. An agonizing process for both of you. Her interior, or what her mental health hasn't already destroyed, breaks apart, and once everything inside has chipped away, her exterior goes, too.
Her touch his gentle, the most gentle it's been in years, as she holds you against her chest, unfazed by the blood staining her shirt, and she tells you, "We'll get through this, Katsuki. You and me, we're strong. We'll get through this."
There was no we.
Your face is bandaged and your mother is doing her best to be strong. She's acting like nothing happened. She's constantly yelling at you to do better, to not mess up or you won't make something of yourself. When she said we'll get through this, you were under the impression she was going to give a shit for more than a millisecond. You thought she was going to give you time to gradually piece yourself back together with her help.
But she didn't. She abandoned you with your inner turmoil so she could act like nothing happened, because if she acts as if her brother hasn't touched you in unkind ways, then she can make herself believe it. She can convince herself that he wasn't checked into a maximum-security prison. In doing so, she's left you alone, stumbling around the dark with pieces that didn't fit anymore because when she abandoned you, she shattered the remains with her feet.
She's yelling at you. Smacking the back of your head. Grabbing your ear.
"You're capable of doing better, Katsuki," she tells you, "Stop fucking up."
You can't help but fuck up. So many thoughts are twirling your head, you can't seem to focus on more than one thing for several seconds before a new, unpleasant thought captures your attention. It's not your fault, you tell her, but she doesn't listen.
"It is your fault. You keep letting yourself get distracted. Knock. It. Off."
A relentless wave of her berating and thoughts of your own slam into you at full force all at once. It's like a truck. Painful and heavy and you're not sure how much more you can takeー
One day, you snap.
"Get off of my ass you hold hag," you yell at her, "For once in your life, look at me like I'm your son and not someone you can brag to your friends about. I'm your goddamn son, and I'm going through so damn much right so excuse me for not being the dancing robot you want me to be. I. Am. Not. Your. Prize."
She breaks. Right there. Her eyes go dead, her breath still, and she walks away from you. Without saying a word. Her movements are sluggish and scary, and then she's locked herself in her room.
Hours later, you try to knock on her door. There's no answer. It's locked. There are no movements behind the door, no indications of life.
You didn't know what would be the last time you'd hear her voice or see her face. You didn't know those words, those horrid words, were going to be the last thing you ever say to her until you finally act on your worry and you break into her room.
You find her there.
Dead.
And your world is flipped upside down in an instant because you realize she was barely holding onto life by a thread. Her husband needing a break and her brother hurting you, her only child. pushed her close to the edge. Your cruel words were enough to give her that final shove over the edge. She stopped taking the medications that used to help keep her bipolar disorder in check, and this low got too low and she couldn't find her way back up to the top.
Now, people are trying to figure out what to do with you. No one on your mother's side is willing to take you after the travesty you caused. You're given to your dad, who moves a lot, which isn't all that different than before because your talent has taken you all over the country.
You live in anger and guilt. It's all you ever feel and you don't know how to deal with it. So you dance your heart out, day after day, year after year. Soon, these feelings are the only things you come to know. You can't remember what it's like to be happy or to have the smallest shred of will to live.
Life moves on, and it doesn't wait for you.
On your face is the constant reminder of the shitty choice you made, and although people don't know why it's there, you still feel like they look at you like some horrible monster.
And in your DNA lives your guilt. When you look in the mirror, you see so much of her. Your hair, your complexion, the way the corner of your lips twisted upwards when you pulled out the strength to give a fake smile. Your explosive personality and drive. So much of her is in you, and you can't look at yourself. So you don't because when you do, all you see is your mother in your face and her brother's invisible hands at they grab your body.
You move out of the town where it all happened, and from then on, you never really know what a true home is. But just before you move, you dance one last time and you lose for the first time. You lose to a black-haired kid with these eyes that remind you of pools of lava. He leaves the building and you feel compelled to follow him because there was something about this kid that made you feel things you didn't know you could feel. That night, he was leaning over a bridge, talking about how he wanted to jump, but you said some things and left and you hope he listened to you.
After years pass, you've never completely healed. Parts of you are still broken and parts of you still bleed with pain.
And years later, when you're nearly grown and yet still haven't managed to move on, you're back in that shitty town where all the shitty things happened because of your dad's job, and you learn there's a dance competition for duos and he wants to be partnered up with this kid called Kirishima. You give in.
This kid, Kirishima, he's the very kid you stopped from jumping into the river, and you learn he's blind. You lost to a blind kid, and for so damn long you fucking hate his guts because of the victory he stole from you.
You meet his friends, Kaminari and Mina, and they're the most annoying people you've ever had the misfortune of meeting in your entire life. You somehow become friends with them, and you become friends with Kirishima, too.
And slowly, you start to fall in love. And then it's no longer slow. At first, it was a slow trek to a metaphorical bridge, and then you trip and you go tumbling over the edge, falling face-first into feelings. Because of these feelings, because of the friendship you built with him, and because you fucked up greatly, you tell him everything.
He sees right through you, smiles, and helps you grieve properly. He eases you into human contact again, he opens your eyes to the possibility of feeling other things that weren't pain, guilt, ir rage. He gives the courage to go to therapy, only if he goes too. And he does.
Every moment in your life, every shitty moment, all the loss and pain, has lead you to this moment:
Kirishima, Mina, Kaminari, and you are all late for the competition because some asshole overslept and you're next onto the stage. For the first time in your life, you're nervous but you can't think about that as you lead Kirishima and his guide dog down the cold streets, because Mina's truck is broken down and your dad is using his, leaving you to walk down the streets in the strange outfits you have to wear while you dance.
You make it with no seconds to spare and no time to practice.
Your names are called through a loudspeaker.
You look at Kirishima, survey his skin and his gorgeous eyes, and you're tempted to kiss him but you don't. You, instead, grab his elbow, leave Riot behind with the other two, and guide him to the stage where the judges await with their fancy pens and high standards and these looks that are almost stoic, like they could endure and witness so much without batting an eye.
You try to prepare yourself, you try to be ready, and you hope Kirishima is ready too.
It's time.
〄
The moment Kirishima and Katsuki become visible on the stage, claps erupt within the auditorium, and backstage, Mina and Kaminari shouted and cheered. Trembles took over Kirishima's body. He couldn't see the auditorium, but he was certain it was filled to the brim with people. Overflowing. He couldn't decide with was more terrifying: seeing the crowd or not seeing the crowd.
Beside him, Katsuki squeezed his elbow and then came to a stop when they reached the centre of the stage. They bowed and moved into their starting positions.
Mina shouted when the crowd had fallen silent, that they looked hot in their costumes. It's not like they were dressed in much. Katsuki had on a pair of black mesh pants that were high waisted, and no shirt on. Wrapped around the length of his arm was a black strip of black material. Kirishima was dressed in a similar dark red material, but a shirt with only one arm covered his upper body, and it was almost like a cape was attached to the back of his pants.
Costumes for contemporary dance are weird. It took the boys ages to find something that was tight-fitting yet breathable and didn't look completely fucking whack. Kirishima felt like he looked strange, and Katsuki said they looked strange the second they put the outfits on. But when they walked in, Katsuki instantly started talking mad shit about some of the other contestants and their costumes, so perhaps they didn't look all that bad after all.
Whatever. Irrelevant. It didn't matter. It was too late to matter. The music started and their movements followed.
Kirishima didn't know about Katsuki, but he knew he hadn't fucked up yet. Almost everything about his movements were perfect, aside from the slight stiffness he felt at the start out of pure anxiety. As he fell into the motions, the anxiety subsided until it was but a grain lost in the euphoria that started to move across his body.
They were perfect, and every part of the routine was going according to plan. Then the end started to near. Katsuki tensed every time Kirishima touched him. After all that time learning the texture of Katsuki's scar, all that time spent trying to show Katsuki that Kirishima wasn't going to ever hurt him, would be fruitless if Katsuki wouldn't let Kirishima do this.
The final set of cords played. Kirishima's heart was in his ears as he though. There were only a few seconds before he needed to run his hands down Katsuki's face, and he needed to use those few seconds to come up with a plan.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. No. No, we've this. It's us. Him and me. I'm going to regret this.
Almost as if he were speaking to himself, Kirishima muttered several words for just Katsuki's ears. He could sense the shock from Katsuki as his once stiff body seem to instantly relax, and he used those few seconds of complete to his advantage, carefully running both his hands down the sides of Katsuki's face. The familiar jagged scar tissue and select few pimples. His cheekbones all the way down to his jaw bone. The skin he's spent hours feeling while teaching his fingers how to remember every texture and pulse he felt when Katsuki's heartbeat skyrocketed.
He almostー
Thump.
Thump.
Thump thump.
Thump thump thump thump.
His own heartbeat was all he could hear, for the music had gradually faded out and the realization as to what had just left his lips punched him in the gut. His stomach was down by his feet and his heart had jumped up, clogging his throat. Breathing? What the hell was that? He was sure he'd never breathe again.
Katsuki was the one to break the physical contact. Of course he had. Normally at the end of these kinds of things, you're supposed to bow while people clap and the judges write down their final assessments, but Kirishima had stumbled his way towards backstage before the audience had to time to even think about clapping. Behind him, Katsuki shouted his name, asked him where the fuck he was going. Kirishima just kept going, his feet carrying him until Mina and Kaminari ran up to him with Riot.
He didn't think twice as he grabbed the handle connected to Riot's harness and gave him the command to start walking with no destination. They needed to wander. No destination was needed.
Cold swarmed his body the second he stepped out of the building. For the end of March, one would expect it to be a little warmer. Things are supposed to start slowly coming back to life as the snow begins to melt. Leaves sewn by the colour of green sprouting out from the branches, flowers crawling their way up from the dirt to show their pretty colours. Life was supposed to start taking over, changing the landscapes from white and barren to lush and green.
Maybe it did look lush and beautiful, maybe Kirishima didn't know because he couldn't see it. What he did know was that snow still covered the ground, he could feel it underneath his thin shoes, and the air was nipping away at his skin.
In the back of his mind words swarmed and multiplied. The words he said. The thing he almost did. All of it swarmed his brain as he let Riot lead him down the sidewalks.
His face was so close to Katsuki's, so close he could feel his breath and smell the mint from his toothpaste. Their lips were are probably close enough to touch if they move a little bit closer, and Kirishima almost closed the distance. Almost. He almost kissed him after he told him that he was in love with him.
"I'm in love with you, Katsuki."
Then he ran away like a coward.
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Katsuki had looked for him everywhere. He scanned the bathrooms, the waiting room where the other contestants were. He even went as far as to ask lingering people if they had seen a kid with spiky red hair dressed in the world's more ridiculous costume and every single one of them shook their head no.
The mortification on Kirishima's face once he spoke, "I'm in love with you, Katsuki," was seared into Katsuki's brain. He didn't know what to do. He wasn't sure if he should have said he felt the same, or if he would have been better off kissing him, but the whole being in front of an auditorium filled with people held him back. So he said nothing, mainly because he was too flabbergasted to think of actual words let alone speak them.
"Do you assholes know where he went?" Katsuki asked as he approached Mina and Kaminari. When he went on stage, they had Riot, and now they didn't.
"No. He took Riot and ran off," Kaminari said.
"Do you think he's okay?" Mina asked. "What even happened?"
But Katsuki was already outside. A hunch, a gut feeling, as to where Kirishima might be gnawed away at his insides and he made the decision to act on it.
He ran
and ran
and ran
and ran, so fast he was gasping to let the cold air fill and burn his lungs. He ran past the many houses that lined the streets, he ran past the school and the woods just behind it.
He ran until he came upon the bridge, the one where he had his first encounter with Kirishima so many years ago, the one that wasn't all that far from the auditorium. Déjà vu hit him like a wave coming in from the ocean when he caught his breath and let the world focus in around him. In the back of his throat, his breath hitched and his mouth was suddenly desert dry. The cold eating away at his skin or burning feeling in his lungs were no longer top his mind because...
...there was Kirishima, leaning over the other side of the railing, his hands holding the metal. It would be simple to fall. His grip could give out or could willingly let go and
f a l l.
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Word Count: 3404
November 20, 2019
so, i've been getting into subnautica (16+ hours in) and i just wanna say one thing: reapers can go fuck themselves. that's it.
there's only like... 7 chapters left and idk how to cope or what to do with myself???? help?????
also, the first section of this was like... me projecting my own feelings and shit, and because of that i hope the words i wrote feel real, if that makes any sense? the goal was to make them hold as much feeling as possible, so i hope I achieved that. let me know please.
-StarsNeverLanding