| 𝔾𝕠𝕛𝕠𝕦 𝕊𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕦 |

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 3 ~ 𝑨𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕

"(Y/N), Getou isn't who you think he is."

Mahito's simple words echoed in my head. I couldn't keep denying to myself that, all along, I knew; I knew it wasn't going to be simple between me and Getou. All the secrets he kept were going to come out, and now I don't even know if I should keep calling him Getou. Because it's not him, it's a curse. A corpse. I'm having... a corpse's child.

Theoretically, it's still Getou's body, but controlled by a different brain, like a puppet. That brain is pure curse; life hasn't flown in that ragged body for years. If only I had known, I would have never done the things I did. If it was months ago, when Getou made his proposal to me, I would have killed him there and then, had I known what he was. But it's too late, I remind myself. There's no going back.

Or is there?

My muscles ache slightly from lack of movement as I slowly sit up, swinging my legs over the age of the bed. My feet brush against the wooden floor as I scrutinise my bedroom; clothes were scattered on the floor and empty fast food packets were littered here and there. The door handle had dust on it that I hadn't cleaned in a week. I hadn't done anything in a week. I look over at the drawn curtains and realized they had dust on them too; realizing it wasn't a healthy thing to breathe in, I grab the curtains and open them gently. If I shook them, the dust would fall on my bed. A ray of sunlight illuminated the centre of the room; that was enough for now.

I get up and drag my feet over to the middle of the room and looked at the mirror on my wall; my hair was sticking out in random parts and the hair tie holding it all together was threatening to fall. Dark splotches of mascara lined the bottom of my eyelids; my face felt like it was about to crack, as the mascara was running down my cheeks had dried up.

Tracing my hips with the tips of my fingers I take the bottom of my stained shirt and lift it up to take a good look at my stomach; the bright but gentle light illuminated it and the bump there was considerably small, but there; by next month, I'll have to start wearing oversized clothes to hide it.

As I realize that more and more unwelcoming thoughts seep their way into my mind. The bump I was gazing at carried the child of a a walking corpse and an irresponsible adult who acted like a 14 year old. If I got rid of it, would I be saving it or would I be saving myself? My fingers involuntarily clench over the little bump, itching to squeeze tighter. My head pounded with questions and the more and more I gazed at the bump, the higher the pain grew, the more my fingers itches to squeeze until I had to force them off my stomach and by my side again. There, I clenched my hands into a tight fist and hung my head, squeezing my eyes shut at an attempt to stop the tears that were threatening to spill.

I take one last look at the small but forbidding bump and turn away, shaking my head. If those small things could lead up to such a huge decision, who knows how many things there are left to find out?