Enmu X Muzan

Shatters Of Glass

I freeze. I look at him shocked. I force myself to open the door and step inside. The door was open, and it closes by itself behind me. I take a step forward. I hear glass shattering and a woman yelling. It's very loud. I feel something running down my face, from my forehead and cheeks. I can feel it dripping on my shoulders from my hair. As it's flowing down on my face, my vision starts covering in red. I fall on my knees. The woman is still yelling at me, but I don't understand what she's saying. As I blink, the redness goes away. That's not the only thing I see. I see myself kneeling on the floor, getting hit by the same woman, with bare hands and different objects, at different points of the room, crying. It doesn't hurt. But I know why they hit me. And I know everybody who doesn't, wants to. That's why I cry. Because it reminds me that I'm useless. Pathetic. Disgusting. I force myself to stand up, and go inside the next room. The bathroom. There, I see myself picking the shards of glass from my face, from the bottle being smashed on my head before. I run to the next room. It's my room. The room where I was reminded to everything they've done to me. Every night, every hit came back in my dreams. And they looked real. I didn't know they were dreams. That's the main reason I didn't have friends. I never knew if I was dreaming or not. I knew about that illness, so I spent many sleepless nights there. I didn't want to fall asleep, I didn't want to have those dreams. When I was sick, I took care of myself there, since my parents wouldn't. When I was coughing in the middle of the night, or had a nightmare and I woke up screaming, my mother came in, slapped me, and told me to shut up because she can't sleep. That's how I got my name as well. Which also means Nightmare. I mean, that's what they explained with. Actually, I got it because I was their nightmare. They never wanted me, but my mother found out too late she was pregnant, and they decided to keep me, just to torture me, as some kind of punishment for me ruining their lives. I walk to the next room with my legs shaking. It's the kitchen. My eyes widen from the memories coming back about that part of the house. I start walking backwards, but my legs are shaking too hard and I fall. There it was. The most painful moments of my life.
I see myself, laying on the floor, my fingers all covered in blood from scratching it desperately, screaming for help, but my mouth is covered by the man on top of me. It's my father. Tears are steaming down my face unstoppably, while he smiles evily and satisfied on me. I'm squirming underneath him, trying to get myself out with all my strenght, but he's five times my size and weight. My wrists are being held together by him, and he's kneeling on my legs. He whispers something in my ears occasionally while he's thrusting his hips. It hurts. My whole body hurts. My legs hurt from his knees. He's going to break my wrists. My body hurts from him weighing on me. Everything hurts. I scream as loud as it's humanly possible, but nobody hears it, and he laughs at me. Then suddenly, he stops and whispers something in my ear again, then leaves. I'm laying there, alone. Traumatized. Scared. I know what happened, but I can't comprehend it.
I look at my wrist. I'm still sensitive when someone touches them. Is it because of that? I look at the floor. It looks so clean. The wooden boards sit neatly in a straight row next to each other. Like no one would've raped anyone there. I was eight years old.

Then eleven.
Then fourteen.
Then eighteen.
Then twenty.

My father never raised a hand on me. He never hurt me, just watched his wife do it. I always believed, that with a differen wife, I could've had a normal life. Until now. He never hit me, but he caused me the most pain. I had nightmares about it every night. I got raped five times, but it felt like five thousand.
I can remember everything. How I was always told that everyone's life would be better if I jumped off the roof. Or cut my veins. Hang myself. Doesn't matter how, I should just die. I don't know what to feel. There are so many emotions trying to take over control.

Fear
Sadness
Anger
Hatred
Disgust

I look around again. I see everything. Every way they used to torture me, and never got it back. I want them to. I want to see them dead. I want to kill them myself. I want them to know how it feels to scream for help and get no response.
I get up slowly, with an emotionless expression on my face. I take my human form (Daki could do that so ig they can too) in case anyone was outside, and as I reach the door, all my emotions melt into one. One that takes the control.
I open the door and close it behind me. My cover gets payed. There's a man sweeping on the road, quietly singing something. I take on a smiley expression and walk over to him fast. "Excuse me~" I say in a sweet tone, waving at him. He turns around a little surprised. I think he's middle aged, but tall and muscular with dark brown hair. "Oh~ Can I help you son?" he asks. His voice is deep and strict. "I hope so~ Do you perhaps know where the former owners of this house live~?" I ask, pointing at the house behind me with my thumb. I don't even know if they are still alive. If they're not, I'll just kill this man. Not that complicated. "Oh, the Tamio couple! Sure, they don't live very far" he aswers smiling. He said their names like they were the cute old couple next door, that remind you of your grandparents and babysit your kids if you can't watch them. It's disgusting. Despite my thoughts I try to keep my happy expression and wait for him to give me directions. "You jut have to take the next left turn, then a right one at the second" he says pointing in the directions that he mentions. "I don't know the exact location of their house, but looking at the mailboxes you'll find it" i smile at him gratefully, and am about to thank him, but he cuts me off. "By the way, what do you need from them at such a late hour?" he asks protectively. Are they so important to you to protect them from even pity burglers? I can't look very dangerous. "Oh, actually, the mailbox is just what I need. I'm the son of one of their friends. My mother gave me a letter to give them, and I was just around the neighborhood, but apparently, they moved." I say the first excuse that I can think about. He looks at me a little suspicious. "I see... Well, good luck son, I hope you find it" he says, grabbing his broom. "Thank you very much sir, you helped a lot~!" I say waving again. I turn around, but I can feel his eyes staring at me, so I keep my attitude. That changes as soon as I take the left turn.
My expression is cold and emotionless.  The streets are empty and quiet. As empty as I feel right now. I don't feel anything.

Anything but rage.