Chapter Text
You can’t breathe. The air just won’t reach your lungs. Why is that?
Oh.
Your mother’s strangling you.
She plunged your head in the cold water of your bath. You kick and struggle but she won’t let you go. Your ears are only met with gurgling giggles. With the company of an unnatural open smile, stretched across the face she shares with you. Such joy from cutting the air from your little lungs. She never smiled like that before. She hadn't given a shred of joy in years, but smiles as she tries to end you. Your arms flare but that only tightens her grip on your young neck.
Was this truly your mother?
Only eleven years old yet you suffer consequences of something you didn’t know you did. Was mother giving you punishment then? Were you being disciplined?
No— this is not your mother.
That thing took her face. It devoured her. Shedding her of her skin as it wore for its own. Robbed her of that colored flesh you both shared. It slashed your throat with its claws and now buried your head in your own bloody water. However you couldn’t be angry. You asked for this, you little bitch.
Your body snaps upright. Sweat trickles down your shaking form. Your hands frantically touch your neck. You felt a phantom of her touch still resting around your neck. Cold and tight, unwavering to let go.
“D-damn! Idiot breath.” You shouted at no one else but you. Your voice bounced off the empty white walls of your small one room apartment. Courtesy of your stinging relatives.
Soon breathing came back to easy as you closed your eyes and counted to ten, “ o-one…tw-two, three…f-four, five, six…seven, eight, nine, t-ten.” A deep breath escapes your lips before you fall back into the bed.
Sleep wasn't usually a gift to you. Always something playing in the back of your mind as you slumber. Yet leaves as soon as you wake up.
Getting out of bed, you slip into your bedside slippers and walk into your cramped bathroom. The light flickers when flipping the switch. Something is always broken in that damn apartment of yours and the landlady rather nag about rent than fix her damn building. With a sigh you quickly brush your teeth, bathe and change into something that’s not your pajamas. Maybe eating breakfast would be a great idea but your monthly budget says otherwise. You drink a half glass of tap water and sit on your bed to make plans.
You're broke. That's the understatement of the century. Yet it is the truth. The inheritance you have only covers up to university—if you go to a cheap local high school.
You're not some genius, you don’t have time to be. Three part time jobs back to back for survival makes it hard to put your all on your lesson. So a full ride scholarship to a stuck up rich kid academy is out of the question. Dreaming is impractical when you drink tap water for breakfast.
It's about two hours before your part time job starts at the clothing store. You have enough money to stock a bit on groceries before school starts. Even if you dread going outside everyday it’s best not to look even more pathetic to your “oh so nice” neighbors.
After closing your apartment door you try to quickly leave the second floor of the three story building, unfortunately luck is never a close friend of yours.
“Oh good morning to you, stranger.” A cheery voice greets you from behind. You stop merely a few feet from the benevolent stairs. With a sigh, you turn to the source.
“Morning, Mrs Sato.” You greet the middle-aged woman.
Mrs Sato was the overly involved type. After her daughter died from cancer five years ago she’s always trying to help someone even if it isn’t wanted.
“I hardly saw you all summer. Only when you’re going out for your morning shift. It’s almost like you’re avoiding me, I’m hurt.” She gave a small laugh at her little joke.
Yes you were avoiding her. Your summer was already a big ball of crap and its ending. The one thing you want is no reminder that your childhood is shit.
“Just busy Mrs. Sato,” you reply quickly and clipped.
“Life is more than just work love. A young hearty teenager should have a little sweet heart in their mind.” She muses with nostalgia bleeding in her eyes. While you pray to a stranger in your mind to end this conversation quickly.
Then you notice that Mrs. Sato holds a basket in her wrinkled hands. She notices the direction of your eyes and her smile suddenly brightens.
“Oh I over cooked portions of some rice balls this morning and thought that I should share some with the neighbors.”
She was a bad liar.
“Would you—”
“I’m not hungry.” Your reply is cold. Quick and without pretense. Maybe you don’t mean to sound like a jerk but you do. Mrs. Sato always does something like this. As if she can sense when you’re running low on cash and your budget tightens. You’ve been living on your own just fine for the past four years. You don’t need a guardian or pity.
Mrs. Sato's smile falters a bit but gains back its former shine.
“Oh don’t be silly. There’s nothing wrong with taking—”
“Just let go already.”
You turn around and walk down the stairs. You no longer care for that train of conversation. Especially when you saw what bleeded from her eyes. Pity.
You enter through the automatic doors of the supermarket. If you are to be correct you have enough money to buy one week worth of rice and if you’re smart that can last you a month.
You feel the walls of your stomach suddenly grumble as you pass through an aisle. A man beside, to your thankful mercy, avoids notice of your stomach’s yells. Cheeks bashfully warm when you search for the rice. You place two medium large bags in your shopping cart and check the time on your watch. Seeing how you have exactly 45 minutes before your shift starts you begin to rush to checkout. If you're even a minute late, that manger of yours will happily deduct your pay.
Then it happened.
The air suddenly becomes heavy. Your feet pauses as if a weight is suddenly chained to your legs. It’s familiar. Tight around your neck. A burning sensation ghostly sharpens around the scar of your neck. Then you see them in the corner. They are smaller than usual but still monstrous. Tiny little fibers of creatures floating in the air following a source. Attracted to something. There’s no use for you to ask anyone if they see them. The answer is always no.
A small shallow group follows something but you keep your eyes straight ahead. No use entertaining them. Scars don’t heal nor should lessons leave. And you learned your lesson hard.
You quickly make a move out the store. Embarrassingly the alarms bleared as you step outside, shopping basket still in hand. You pause mid exit with your chest heaving. This wasn’t your day, was it. But then again when was it ever.
“Hey! Thief, stop right there!”
If there is a God he sure as hell hates your guts.
You turn to see a dark blue haired boy beaming towards you. He wore the store’s uniform and a delinquent glare.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to. Lost in thought, honest.” Exhaustion bleeds from your voice as you explain yourself.
“Lost in thought my ass!”
Ah, so he was the vulgar type- you thought. Just your luck.
The brute grasps you by the hand and drag you to the cashier. Your cheek stings with embarrassment as everyone in the store whispers while staring at you. Their blaring gaze shooting daggers at you. Could this dummy not be more merciful?
“Hey! Let go of me, jerk!” You yell.
“Just pay up and not cause a scene thief!” You try pulling away from his grip but he was strong. Way stronger than the average teen and you were confident in your own strength.
“I’m causing a scene!?” You bite back.
You make to pull away again but it was no use. You grumble while avoiding the cashier’s gaze and pay up quickly.
“Now, was that so hard,” he says with an idiot grin playing on his face. You reply with a finger.
With his grip now loose you pull away your hand and storm off. You only hear a snippet of the cashier’s thanks to the idiot.
“Thanks, Okumura.”
Okumura…
Shopping here again would be a death sentence. He was to blame for it—this place was cheap too.
You swore to yourself the next time you see that meat for brains—you’ll kick him in the sack.