𝓕ᵃᵗʰᵉʳ'ˢ 𝓟ᵉʳᶠᵉᶜᵗ 𝓛ⁱᵗᵗˡᵉ 𝓖ⁱʳˡ

III | I

TRIGGER WARNING:
-blood

★・・・★

CHAPTER — I
part three

YOU FELT some weird sort of accomplishment as you set foot out of the church.

However, your victory was short lived, as your mother ushered you to where Father Fushiguro was shaking people's hands as they left. He wasn't alone, there was a man, a very tall man, dressed in a fully black costume, with a navy shirt, and brown leather shoes. On top of his head were shiny, silver hair, parted at the side. If his eyelashes, as well as his eyebrows weren't of the same color, you'd think he'd dyed them. His eyes were a light blue, his skin as pale as could be and his body slender. His eyes were soft and welcoming, but there was an air of confidence around him, which intimidated you a little bit.

Father Fushiguro spotted you in an instant, his lips curling in a chilling smile.

"This is Gojo Satoru," he introduced you to the man at his side, who cocked an eyebrow at you and you mother.

"... and they are ?" his voice wasn't as deep as Father Fushiguro's, but smoother and slightly more suave. He stood a bit straighter as he offered you a bow despite his confusion.

"Newcomers." is all he replied, however, Satoru seemed to understand him perfectly as his eyes widened in realization. He offered you a blinding smile in return, elated.

"Ah," he laughed lightly, "In this case, very pleased to meet you."

"He is a teacher at this village's highschool," Father Fushiguro looked at you, "Little one, you're still in highschool, right ?"

You were 18, turning 19 in a few months and you were still in highschool, it was something you felt a bit complexed about. You had started school around two years later than your peers because you were very physically weak. You remember your first years were mostly spent in the hospital. It got better through the years, although, you still couldn't do any hard physical activities without fainting. This was the reason why you'd always been the oldest in your classes.

You would finally start your last year after the holiday, and you couldn't wait to head off to college, where age didn't matter as much.

"I-I am." you stuttered.

"Well, he might be your teacher this coming year."

"I also hold a little youth day camp, here, at the church, it's mostly a place for the kids to hang out, however," he suddenly told you, eyes strained on you and you didn't know how to feel about his sudden interest on you. "You're invited, naturally,"

You were nearly tempted. But then, the feel of the heavy weight of Father Fushiguro's eyes on you deterred you.

"With the father ?" Your mother held you by the waist.

Satoru looked at his friend, "Yes, with the father,"

You didn't want to go. You were sweating bullets, the dreadful feeling in the pit of your stomach returning in full force—you can't go.

"She's going." Your mother tightened her hold on you, securing you closer to her.

You eyes shifted from Satoru, to your mom, who both looked way too satisfied, when they didn't even ask for your opinion. You understood why she would assume you'd want to go—this is what you would've wanted, too, under different circumstances.

In your peripheral vision, you saw the same man you'd noticed before with ashy blond hair coming closer. He walked straight to Father Fushiguro and Satoru in slow steps, before leaning down to whisper something in their ears.

"It's ready." was the only thing you manage to discern.

Then they all looked at both your mother and you.

"I'm afraid we have to go," Father Fushiguro bowed, "This is my friend, Nanami Kento. He surely hopes to you two again next Sunday."

"The camp starts on Wednesday, be here at 10." Satoru winked.

"She will be." she assured, squeezing you before looking at you with warm, prideful eyes.

"Goodbye, __." Father Fushiguro grinned. You waved at him, content with being done with him for the day, before something plagued you.

And it was with a shocked gasp that you realized that you hadn't told him your name.

★・・・★

It was with a shocked gasp that you woke up, your body jerking up, bills of sweat dripping down your forehead. You gripped your bedsheets as you inhale sharply, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest.

You stared at your white ceiling for long and painful seconds, your sight glossed over because of tears gathering in your eyes, nearly spilling over your cheeks. You let out uneven, shuddering breaths as your mind replayed the event of the frequent, but always as horrifying, dream you just had.

This kind of nightmare occurred at least once a weak, and always portrayed the same events.

You aren't able to recognize or discern anything of your surroundings. Everything looks like a vague blur, as if it is coated in some kind of thick, misty dark fog.

Your mother is standing in front of you, her body shaking and her teeth clattering. She's smiling, except it looks dark and twisted. The corners of her mouth are curled in what looks like grin, but is in fact a sneer, as she eyes you down. You aren't able to feel anything, except for the thick and warm liquid covering your chest and the entirety of your arms. It's as if you're simply a spectator having possessed another's body to witness a scene.

Your mother's shirt is entirely soaked, and it is clutching at her skin as she's staggers to you, her body quivering some more as she lets out a pitiful laugh.

"Good, good, my child." She looks pathetic and suffering, but her tone is soft and validating, "I knew you'd do it, you've always been good." She gives you a look absolutely full of pride, something you've never on her face before and if you didn't feel so disconnected and distanced to the entire act, you would probably feel happy.

It's when your mother's body suddenly jerks forward and that she coughs up what seems to be blood violently that you realize that she's coated in it. You only now notice it dripping down her shirt.

The dream starts to feel more real when you realize that you are too. You shiver in cold sweat. The blood feels nice and warm on your skin, but you're scared and pathetic. You mother's is shaking and convulsing, but there is nothing but happiness and satisfaction on her features.

"Now, kill me." She demands and you shake your head. You let out a wet sob as she clutches her stomach, you see the first evidence of her suffering on her face as she winces.

You refuse to do it. You keep on shaking your head until you're, yourself shaking as well, on your bed, as your eyes shot open. Relief floods through you as you lean up and take notice of your surroundings.

This was how it usually went.

It wasn't any different now.

You wished it wouldn't and hurt as much as it did every time. You wish you'd be able to grow accustomed to it. So much that seeing it wouldn't make the skin of your arms erupt in goosebumps, or even make you panic and wail with tears streaming down your face.

As usual, you slid down your bed, and carefully opened the door to your parent's bedroom. After confirming that your mother was still alive and well, you went back inside your covers and closed your eyes, even if you knew you wouldn't fall back asleep.

Everything felt the same, but wasn't.

Through your insomnia, you feel something staring at you, pressuring you to look but you don't. You keep your eyes closed, you heart battering in your chest as you hear a window open and close, and that's when you relax.

One single tear rolls down your cheek.

★・・・★