Yandere Oikawa
He just was never enough.
That repeating thought clung to his skin. A living parasite infecting his whole body and mind. Inflicting harm on every one of his cells; eating away at what was the last of his sanity. He was so disgusted...
Oikawa was aware of his existence but never felt genuine - almost as if he wasn't entirely experiencing everything. He felt like his body had become separate from himself; just watching his body go through the motions, detached from his surroundings. He wondered at which point did he realize he wasn't enough.
Was it a moment of desperation to prove himself to push him into being like this? Or, the nights where he tried so hard to hold himself together while crying himself to sleep, almost suffocating on his own tears. Was it the mornings after - where he never felt more alone? Maybe was when he couldn't stop vomiting in the school's bathroom in the afternoon, feeling so disgusted with himself. Perhaps it was when he would scratch at his arms until they bleed. Was it the particular match that caused Oikawa's distress? Or was that his ultimate breaking point.
He just was never enough.
That repeating thought clung to his skin. A living parasite infecting his whole body and mind. Inflicting harm on every one of his cells; eating away at what was the last of his sanity. He was so disgusted with himself, that his own body felt infested.
Never fucking enough, not even for himself.
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There was a brightness blanketing the town below. Sparse white clouds drift through the sky overhead. A delicate breeze ran through the avenues. The afternoon sun, bulging like a golden dome against the blue sky, emitted waves of heat that drank the very final drops of moisture.
Iwaizumi invited Oikawa to spend time with him - now Hajime may not seem so aware from afar to the naked eye, but maybe he actually was to other people. With Tooru, he was almost unnaturally aware. He could sense his childhood best friend's tiredness. Tiredness is built from not physically overwork, but the loss of self-confidence. He could see it in the creases around his eyes when he smiles; the smallest detail that no normal person would notice.
But, Hajime noticed.
"I was thinking if you wanted to rewatch the match between Japan and Argentina?" Iwaizumi started slowly, testing the waters. He didn't want to push Oikawa into an uncomfortable position, that was the last thing he wanted to do right now. Oikawa wasn't himself; all he wanted was the Oikawa he knew. "You know, the one where we attended when we were younger. I found the match online."
There was a discomfiting silence that seemed to circulate around the neighborhood once Iwaizumi stopped speaking. The tension between the two young boys was obvious, and it's been obvious for a while. Their footsteps reverberated against the street as they neared his house. It took Oikawa a few minutes to process his question; making Iwaizumi worry even more if he said something unsuited.
"Yeah. I remember that match." Five simple words were articulated by Oikawa, followed by a spurt of delicate laughter.
Tooru Oikawa laughs everything off - but there was a time he couldn't do that. That time was right now.
Iwaizumi let out a piercing sign after the laughter died down, making Oikawa peek at the boy beside him. "When are you going to stop this act Tooru?"
The two junior high pupils ceased walking after those words left his mouth; an intense silence followed after. They stood facing each other, hands in their pockets almost in a comfortable position. There was nothing comfortable about this situation though.
"We needed more than me." Oikawa began, his brown gaze seemed to plunge down to the ground. "I wasn't enough." His voice croaked at the end of his sentence.
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Oikawa gazed at the enormous mirror in front of him; his rugged hands tightly grasping the white countertop beneath him. If the countertop hadn't been made of granite, he was sure he would have been able to shatter it.
The frustration of agonizing pain coursed throughout his body. Making his own body feel every inch enraged. The tingling sensation was horrible but not foreign to the boy. He didn't know how to possibly restrain this feeling that had such a physical effect on his body.
He saw how his hands held the countertop, his knuckles scraped up and bruised. They have grim and filth on them from when he scratched and punched at the ground when he came home.
Oikawa felt his face getting wet - looking up he was met with a messy version of himself. His eyes were bloodshot red overfilled with tears of fury, his face scratched up and filled with grime and dirt. His brown locks were messed up filled with sweat and dried blood from slamming his head on the ground.
Who was this person?
Was this him? Is this who he is now. He was always been like this though. He can't recall the time he wasn't like this. Always driven by his emotions that were unnaturally heightened. They seemed to consume his every being.
He didn't know if he wanted to be like this anymore, but it was all he knew. A horrible habit that cannot be broken. It could maybe be managed down, but at the end of the day, it would never go away. Could he be perhaps addicted to this crushing feeling? The feeling of anger and pain.
He let out a small gasp of breath, trying to control his uneven breathing. Pressing his hot hands to his face, harshly slapping them against his skin. The sound echoed the pain produced as well.
He recalled arriving home after being with Iwaizumi. The whole time with him, he kept a cool front, but inside, he was nothing but a raging flame. Nothing could keep the flame from consuming him. Building up slowly since their walk to Iwaizumi's house.
Oikawa threw his bag to the dirt-filled ground in his backyard. His books flew out of the open zipper, scattering across the garden his mother grew. He knew his mother wasn't home; her car wasn't in the driveway.
His knees begin to wobble due to the tingling sensation that has finally consumed his body. He threw his body to the ground in anger. Thrashing his limbs on the dirt. His hands began to shake as his body rose in temperature. His breath began to come out unevenly; he couldn't breathe properly.
Oikawa began to claw at the dirt. The dirt goes under his neatly filed fingernails. The sweat on his hands began to make the soil sticky by the combination of moisture and dirt. But the clawing at the ground wasn't enough for him. He let out a scream in frustration and began to beat his fists into the ground.
The pounding of his fists echoed around the backyard. He could feel the pain going through his hands, traveling up his arms. It was utterly addicting. The beating of fists turned into him banging his head on the ground.
The thuds and screams filled the neighborhood, as the pain was numbed over by the anger. The smashes continued until he could feel blood running down his face.
This was the person he became. The person he was.
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