𝙃𝙞𝙨 𝙇𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙁𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙮|| 𝙆. 𝘽𝙖𝙠𝙪𝙜𝙤𝙪

𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙨𝙝 𝙏𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙨

[TW: Talks about child abuse.]

"A have a lot of things I don't talk about. I'm not sure why, but it's hard. I've come to peace about my mom, but now all this shit with my dad is coming back to me and I feel... I don't fucking know, guilt or something."

Your hands ran across the silk of your bonnet as you sighed. Katsuki was at a loss for words, which was rare for him, and his mind struggled to think of words to say. He could tell you were hurting, that you'd been hurting, and wasn't sure how to respond.

"I get my quirk from my dad. Most of it at least. I don't know how to describe it, but it's the emotional part of it. Being able to feel someone's emotional state and understand it is what I got from him. Being able to change it was from my mom."

You never really grabbed the concept of how quirks like yours worked. It was always strange how the light touch of your finger could change the way a person felt entirely. Your thoughts almost consumed you until you felt Katsuki's skin on yours.

Both of his hands held your right one, and he lightly kissed your knuckles. "I know it's hard to think about your dad. I know it's even harder to talk about it to me. I won't force you to, but I want you to know I'm always here if you ever want to talk."

You smiled, placing your left hand on top of his to feel the warmth. That was the thing about Katsuki, he had this warmth about him. It felt like home. "My therapist says that I don't want to be seen as a victim and have people worry about me." "Do you agree with her?" I guess, but it's hard to admit."

Katsuki nodded, and his eyes moved as he thought of what to say. "Well, you know I've always seen you as a strong person. I know the type of woman you are, and that you needing comfort isn't the same as you being weak." You gave a faint smile, a deep breath coming right after. No better time to tell your husband about your life rather than 2 am.

"My father was born Nishida Guzman-Inoue in Mexico. His mom was Mexican and his dad was Japanese. I don't know what his dad was doing in Mexico, but he always resented my father. That he wasn't the 'perfect' person or some racist bullshit like that. His mom tried her best to raise him practically on her own, but Nishida was always a bit odd.

He met my mom when he was twenty and she was seventeen. Don't know how the fuck they met cus she was in high school and he wasn't but whatever. My mom was young, when you're young you don't think about consequences. She figured out she was about a month pregnant in October.

Of course, Abuela was upset, my mom was her youngest kid. Not even her adult kids had kids yet. My mom refused to tell her who the dad was, and she wasn't allowed to leave the house. At some point, she told Nishida, and he was pissed. He could never accept his ethnicity and being mixed, so having a mixed kid didn't go well.

I was born, and this is where the story kind of gets loose here. Abuela will only tell me certain things, my tía and tíos will only tell me certain things, and I'm the oldest cousin. No one wants to think about the bad parts of my mom, which happened to be with my dad.

A year later my mom met Andres, and a couple of months later she was pregnant. Carmen was born in July, and I was only two. I don't remember knowing Nishida was my father. I always assumed it was Andres. He lived with us, he was Carmen's dad, and he and my mom got married when I was four.

My mom was sick. I'm not sure with what, because no one ever talks about it, but having kids surely didn't help it. It's something I didn't notice until I was older, how she got smaller and her hair seemed thinner.

When Carlitos was born, she died about two hours later. I was six, you don't understand death at six. You don't understand seeing your mom in a coffin and put into the ground. You don't understand a man who says he's your father, puts you on a plane, and takes you to a new place.

Mind you, I'm only one-fourth Japanese. I was this little girl who mainly spoke Spanish in a new place with people who looked nothing like me and didn't talk the same as I did. Nishida didn't take me around a lot of his family, so it was pretty much him and I.

The neglect started when I was about eight. I was pretty much fending for myself for food and clothes. Sure we had an apartment, but he was never home. There was one night when he was home, he came in drunk and was pissed about something.

I was playing the piano, I didn't hear him come in until he was in the room yelling at me to stop. I don't know if I closed the piano too hard or my feet hit the floor a little too loud but the noise made him so much madder. That was the first real beating I remember.

It always happened like that, he would come home drunk, get mad, then beat me. Then in the morning, he'd try to apologize and tell me that he didn't mean it. It was like that for three years. A couple of days after my eleventh birthday I got home late from school. I had to walk a different way due to construction. I didn't even expect him to be home that early, and he got mad at me for no fucking reason.

I don't know what got into me that day, but I was tired. I was sick of hiding bruises and being treated like shit. So I ran into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle, and smashed it. I pointed the sharp end at him and told him that if he hit me again I'd kill him. That was the first time I'd stood up to him.

And he didn't do anything. He just left. I didn't see him for three days after that. That night, I don't remember much, but I woke up in the car. There were bags in the car, and he was going so fast I thought I'd sink into the seats. I didn't say anything, and when the car stopped we were at this big ass building. I couldn't read the sign because it was dark.

Nishida dragged me out of the car and threw the bags at me. I asked him what was going on, and where was I, and he said nothing. He got back in the car and drove off, just like that.

I was lost, and scared, and my dad had just left me outside with what I was assuming was all my stuff. I didn't have anything else to do except knock on the door and hope they could help me. Little did I know it was a damn orphanage."

You didn't realize you'd been talking so long. Katsuki realized you'd spaced out, and he lightly squeezed your hand. "You don't have to keep going. It's okay." That's all he felt like he could offer, is reassurance. You yawned, and he saw the bags under your eyes.

"You haven't been sleeping." It was more of a statement rather than a question, and he just pulled you closer and rested your head on his chest. You felt that warmth, it relaxed your muscles and made your mind ease.

It was the first time you'd slept without a nightmare.