A Shatterd soul

Ch.5

A nightmare had left him drenched in sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Each inhale sent a sharp jolt of pain through his ribs, but it was fine.He knew he could handle it.

getting a good night's rest seemed like an  dream, something naively hoped for but never done. Ever since that shitty day when he was pushed onto the train tracks, his already non-existent sleep schedule had been fucked up even more

The nightmares were relentless, a cruel reminder of the memories that were already etched deeply into his head They played on repeat, tormenting him with every sleepless night. He despised them with every fiber of his being.

But i mean ,Who in their right mind would enjoy reliving their past mistakes in the form of nightmares? Certainly not him. The haunting images of his failures overshadowed any attempt to focus on the few wholesome memories he could salvage.

He longed to forget, to let go of the blood-stained faces that haunted his dreams. But his mind, like a twisted sentinel, held onto those memories with an iron grip. His fantastic memory, a trait that seemed to work against him, refused to let him escape.

It felt as if god himself held a personal grudge against him. He wasn't a religious person, but in moments of desperation, he found himself screaming and begging for divine intervention. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the blood on his wrists as he pleaded for release, for an end to his miserable, pathetic existence.

But he knew that option was never on the table as long as lives continued to be lost around him. He had a responsibility to save them, and opposing was not an option.

Before he allowed his mind to wander too far, risking actions he would later regret, he rose from his slouched position on the hard wooden frame of his bed. His school uniform clung disgustingly to his skin, drenched in a mix of sweat and grime.

It wasn't too late for him to freshen up, to wash away the remnants of another exhausting day of his life.

He tiptoed quietly to the bathroom, careful not to disturb the slumbering residents of the house and invite scolding for his lack of consideration for others.

Stepping into the shower, he turned on the water and felt the comforting warmth envelop his body. In those moments, he found a temporary escape.

He began to scrub away the sweat and dirt that clung stubbornly to his skin, wincing occasionally as his hands grazed over tender spots. Rinsing himself off, he moved on to washing his hair, his damaged curls causing a twinge of discomfort with every touch.

He wasn't oblivious. He knew his bleached blonde hair looked like shit, but his younger self had used it as a shield, an attempt to distance himself from his father's image. His confusing relationship with his dad . Despite everything, he couldn't help but love him. He wanted to hate him for the pain he had caused, but a nagging voice inside him always made him feel guilty.

"He did it because he cares about you."

"You should be grateful to have a dad like him."

"He works tirelessly to provide a roof over your head."

"ungrateful"

The guilt weighed heavily on him, driving him to always strive for his father's approval, to make him proud.

As a child like any other, he had done everything in his power to bring happiness to his dad's face. The simplest achievements like tying his own shoelaces or drawing a family picture would earn him showers of affection and praise. But as the years passed, his father grew colder and more distant.

Takemichi, believing it was his fault, pushed himself even harder to garner even a single word of acknowledgement from his father. He strived for straight A's, avoided fights, and became overly helpful in his pursuit of validation.