Thunderstorms

The obscure bedroom turned stark white momentarily as a bolt of lightning flashed outside, as the pitter patter of heavy rain and hail disturbed the nightly silence. A howl of thunder followed, and a figure seated at the side of the king-sized bed raised his blond-head. Thunder didn't scare him. No, not at all.

Perhaps it did, sometime in the past; probably his four or five-year old self, who used to cower and cry under his bed, trying to protect his head and turn out the noise by his small hands. The very first time, and you couldn't blame a child to be terrified, he had barely heard any sound in his life. Nobody ever talked to him, after all.

He remembered shouting, calling out desperately for that woman.

She didn't answer of course, nobody did. Although he knew they had heard him, all the people responsible for his misery; who treated him like a mistake. A hitch that was to be eliminated immediately, there was no in between; or it would destroy them.

Their conceitedness was laughable indeed, only it didn't relieve his pain.

He remembered staying up all night, and coming out from the bed; when the storm calmed down. When they brought his change of clothes for the day, every one of them was expression-less; all refusing to notice his puffy red eyes, pinched face and shivering form. The only new thing that day was a meeting with his Duke Grandfather and it was over in a fleeting cold, hard look. But it told him enough.

His dire screams had gone unheard, and that was the future, so he never bothered them with those again.

It was amazing that the feeling of revenge never emerged inside him. It was always hurt, and a bit of vain; he always thought, or rather ached for a world where he had her. Where she would wrap him in her warm embrace and whisper loving things in his ear. He could annoy her, pour his heart out to her, make her proud, and be fussed over by her. Sometimes he did consider her worth despising, but only transitorily; because he yearned for her so much.

People said that she had been beautiful, vivacious, extremely clever; an asset for the Duke. He wished that he could have met her too. The only time he had seen her was in an old picture, which he had come across when he had stumbled into the mansion's storeroom. He took it. He was foolish to think that he could keep it.

After that, he just moved on, made the pain his driving force, longing and working towards the day when he could be free of this place and not bother them with anything, ever again. With his burning desire and his natural talent, he was successful. He was able to get away; but he wasn't able to forget.

But he had achieved what he had been trying to, he had control now. He was taught again how foolish he was to think that. Tacitly, the Duke made him realize what he should have understood long before, his existence was going to be punished; to no end; simply because of the fact that it was there. That night there had been another thunderstorm and after so many years, he again felt the urge to crawl under the bed and cry. Then, there really was nobody to hear, not that it made a difference.

Thunder didn't scare him. No, not at all.

It just made him remember, that was the fault.

Even now, he felt something wet roll down his cheek as another bolt of lightning outside illuminated his face. He didn't like self-pity, but sometimes it was hard to avoid it. Especially, when there was nobody else to show him any. He hated himself for thinking that.

"Takumi?"

He gasped when he was met by a pair of worried amber eyes. Her hair hung down loose as she leaned over the bedside; her appearance still bearing traces of sleep. It changed to slight shock when she noticed the tear stain and his pale and harassed expression. She placed a hand on his shoulder as the cry of thunder resounded in the room once again. He involuntarily stiffened and to his embarrassment, comprehension dawned on her face.