a guide on how to NOT be a good brother- by Atsumu Miya

⋆｡˚ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 9❀

I don't remember my parents running in, I don't remember sitting in the back of the ambulance, in the waiting room, or in the back of the car on the drive home after it was confirmed he had passed. I remember Suna screaming and shouting at me, tears falling slowly down his cheeks, as he blamed me for everything, and as everyone turned against me, my friends, my parents, Omi, and even myself. 

Honestly, I thank Suna for outing me. I couldn't look my family in the eye since I stood in that freezing cold room that belonged to Osamu. I don't think I could have held on for much longer if they never knew. If they kept trying to comfort me and tell me that it was not my fault when in reality, it was. I wasn't allowed to say my last goodbyes before they took him to the graveyard, I wasn't allowed at the funeral as a whole. Don't worry, I understand. I wouldn't have invited me either. I wouldn't have even gone. I have the chance to visit his grave, but I'm not going to. I mean, how can a fucking murderer look their victim in the eyes and apologize? Tell them they are sorry for taking away such a small and sincere life. Tell them they are sorry for ruining their family. They are sorry for taking away the happiness of everyone their victim ever loved. 

I've thought about killing myself, to put myself through the pain that Osamu went through while he died, but then I realized I don't need to die to go to hell, because I'm living in it. My own special place, alone, in an old scabby apartment with the yellow wallpaper peeling off the walls. This is hell. And not even the hot core in the center of the earth that your average person would call 'hell' could compare to the ongoing and everyday torture that I'm going through.