Some things are better left forgotten (vigilante deku)

Chapter 13

2nd April 2246

Bang!

Heavy breaths left my lungs.

Bang!

My foot connected with the bag again, sweat dripping from my forehead.

Bang!

The sun was shining into my eyes, soon meeting the horizon, but my attention was sharp, not leaving the bag for a second.

Bang!

"That'll do, take a rest."

At his words I put my hands on my knees, breathing heavily.

With this moment of rest I went down to my knees, moving my blade into my hands, making it comfortable to sit down.

I notice Stendhal staring at me, like he was analysing me.

I raise an eyebrow, catching his stare. He shook his head slightly, answering my unasked question.

"I've watched some of your fights before training you, you're brutal." I clench the blade in my hands as he spoke, every drop of blood that stained the metal colouring my mind. "Why is that? Do you find pleasure in beating on criminals? Making them bleed?"

I shake my head.

"No, I don't." My voice sounded dull as I spoke, kneeling down on the floor as I rested.

"How many people have you defeated? Hundreds?" I held my blade in my hand, remembering everyone I put under my feet.

"Thousands."

"And when you put them to your blade, what did you feel?" I grit my teeth slightly.

"I felt, nothing." He let out a grunt at my response.

"Then why spill blood, if you do not feel pleasure for it?" I clutched my blade in my hands.

"Because criminals need something to fear, a monster that hides under their bed." I felt a glare enter my eyes as I stared down at my blade. "When they realise I am that monster, they'll run, hide in their homes." I look up to him from my seat, my glare disappearing. I could see him let out a sigh, seeing the vacant look in my eyes.

"My daughter told me about you before we met. How you went to Poland, helped give the people back their freedom." I sat in silence, wondering what he wants. "She also told me that the caring boy that left never came back." I stood up, leaning against the wall, a blank look adorning my eyes.

"He died in a place nobody should've been in." I could see Stendhal's eyes look at me in concern as I get back to training, kicking the bag as he told me.

"Sometimes when I lay in bed, I can hear their footsteps coming to kill me again. As I waited in that room after watching my friends die, waiting for them to burst into the room to kill me, I hear them ready their weapons, fire up their quirks." My face stayed blank throughout my speech, a numb feeling deep within me. "Sometimes I would lay there all night listening to these illusions, but it was okay, because I want them to come and fill my ears with fear. The last thing I want is silence because in that silence, I see the people I failed, lying in front of me in a pool of there own blood." I land a hard hit on the bag, my foot going through the fabric as sand dripped onto the floor.

I wiped my leg clean, staring back to Stendhal.

"You have nightmares?" His face was hung with concern. I nodded my head.

"Almost every night." I think back to the first morning I wasn't tormented by them, remembering how I met with Clara, who felt like the first real friend I've had in almost a decade.