Infernal Memories

Blood Covered Floorboards

Was it while he was picking himself up off of the floor, blood dripping from his body from cuts that shouldn't be there?

Maybe it was while he was stumbling and limping through the hallway of his childhood home, quiet as ever and careful not to knock any vases down.

Perhaps it happened when he fell onto his futon tiredly, ignoring the pain the action brought him as he listened to Fuyumi cry from the kitchen.

Maybe it was when the car started outside, his father leaving him despite his cries for help.

Whatever it was, a realization made itself known in Todoroki's mind, his broken, shattered mind.

'I don't think I'm okay.'

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"You should treat yourself to something after. Get some cold soba like you always loved. Maybe a-"

"I'm okay Fuyumi. Thank you. I'll be back with your... what is it?"

"Ugh- I told you a million times! It's perfume!" She reached her hands up to even his hoodie strings out. "Please make sure you get the right kind."

"I will. Bye." He closed the front door behind him, then took off on his skateboard to go to the mall not far from his home. Fuyumi had requested he buy her favorite perfume for her while she finished up dinner for her date tonight. She was going on a date with her girlfriend, and wanted to be presentable.

Yesterday was tough. The dorms had been shut down a week ago because of a villain attack that left them crumbling and fallen apart. So the students were forced to go home. Home.

Home for Shouto meant training and neglect. Being beat on until he couldn't stand, breathe, or even feel the pain anymore. It meant Enji, his supposed father, wrongly naming abuse,
hiding his malicious acts behind a cover. It meant numbness at night, and pain in the morning. Meant blood and bruises and burns.

It also meant his sister's love. She didn't live there anymore, but after hearing Shouto was going to be there more often, she stayed some nights there to make sure he wasn't alone. Made him dinner and retrieved bandages for his wounds and burns. That's what love was for him. Nothing less, nothing more.

He wore a black hoodie accompanied by blue, distressed jeans. His face was covered by a black fabric mask, to hide bruises and cuts on his lips. Fila chunky sneakers, white with blue and red lettering, met with the cuffs of his jeans. A black backpack sat on his shoulders, empty besides a hoodie he had never taken out of it.

He rode through the neighborhood casually, taking the road since there were little to no cars there to run him over. He found himself repeatedly adjusting his mask out of self-consciousness, afraid someone would see the bruises and cuts that littered his face. He made sure his sleeves were pulled down too, to hide the bandages on his wrists from where Endeavor had burned the living essence out of him. He had one earbud in, listening to a song on low, so he could still hear his surroundings.

His whole body ached from yesterday's training. He knew there was more today too. All he could do is mentally prepare to disassociate involuntarily. It had helped him through the pain many times, but he hated it still. It felt ethereal. Like he was watching his own body be beat into oblivion. Like he wasn't there at all. Watching himself be hurt yet feeling nothing, no pain, no remorse. No remorse for the lifeless body on the ground. No idea whether his entire life was real or just a dream.

Until he would return to normal and the pain took over, bringing him back to what he knew was real. Blood covered floorboards and the smell of smoke. His least favorite smell in the world. He hated that if he wanted, he could make that smell. His flames could. The thing that had scarred him too many times before,
he could have complete control over. It horrified him.