The nights Shinsou spent alone waiting as "a few hours" or "a quick trip to the store" turned into a whole night - he didn't sleep, he never slept. Not in his house, where the ghost of his estranged mother wanders the loose hallways, with a drunken slur, calling out to his long-gone father, he never replies, Hitoshi never expected him to.
He had learned to hate himself for caring so much, he hated wondering if she was okay because while he was thinking - worrying- of her, she was thinking of the random guy in the bed next to her, or the sweet taste of one too many free drinks on her lips and inside of her mouth, the emptiness of her stomach filled with liquor, because liquor didn't have calories.
He always dreaded those nights, found himself saying - covering it up - at school "I just didn't sleep well", while at home the fact my heart shattered more and more poured out with every broken sob; for thirteen years until they stopped.
The pieces of his heart are becoming too small, small sharp shards; if attempted to be picked up would cut, unlike any blade, because she had not helped him pick them up, she did not care enough, and she's never home to see how depression can Kill someone slowly. How it is killing her own fucking son. How anxiety had poisoned him. And it may kill him. How he kept a noose in his closet, instead of skeletons, how his medicine drawer had more empty bottles of sleeping pills than bandages for his shattered heart and bruised mind.
Hitoshi thought himself unconditional love did exist, there was always a price to be held.
Like how his mother cost a bottle of vodka.
YOU ARE READING
Five things my mother taught me
Fanfictionand the one important thing aizawa did. Or: Shinsou's mother taught him a lot, but not what he needed to know. Aizawa taught him that not all adults are dangerous. Trigger warning: Alcoholism and neglect
