My made up song

chapter 8

                                                                    Shoto pov

"That's our time for the day, Shoto. I'll see you next week, okay?"

Dr.Aizawa looked down at his watch, before standing to lead me to the door. I nodded quietly, walking slowly to the door. He mumbled something to me about how we were making great progress, as I walked past him into the waiting room of the office. The grey walls made me nauseous and I hated how it always smelled like a hospital in here.

I nodded politely at the secretary sitting at her desk, tied up in a phone conversation. She smiled and waved slightly with her nonbusy hand. The staff here were pretty nice. It made this experience a little more tolerable, despite being in the routine for about a year and a half now it still felt repetitive and torturous.

I wasn't someone who was relatively good at talking about my feelings, or understanding feelings of any kind for that matter. I tried, I mean I did try... but after everything that happened, I didn't see the point for a while. Of anything, really.

Life was this big array of unfortunate events, and our reactions to these events are what shaped the way in which we lived. Choices, control, emotion... these things were so black and white to me that I couldn't make sense of any of it. I was trying to see more of the "gray areas" like Dr.Aizawa had suggested. It was easier said than done when you've lived your entire life a certain way.

Before my brother died, I was relatively happy. Well, maybe not for the majority of my youth. My abusive father didn't really help mould a healthy relationship with emotions, or other people for that matter.

I watched helplessly as he beat my mother for years, watched from where I was pushed to hide behind her. He beat her for protecting me. He beat her for trying to make me "soft." He beat her because it was raining out. Or because he couldn't find his favorite button up shirt.

I hated him. I still do.

That wasn't the reason I chose to start going to therapy though. The issues I had with my father were the last thing I cared about. One day he would get what was coming to him, and that brought me enough comfort.

Life had a way of coming full circle. One way or another, Karma made its way to those who were deserving. It was just the way of the world.

I hated myself, that much I could recognize. I was familiar with that emotion, I'd carried hate with me for as long as I can remember. Hatred was no stranger to me. I sighed, walking to the crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn allowing me to cross safely.

Izuku.

I shuddered as his name rolled through my mind. It felt like a ghostly whisper, it sent shivers down my spine. It shoved the already sunken knife deeper into my fragile heart, twisting with every flash of emerald eyes and curly hair. I couldn't forgive myself.

As much as I tried to move on, forget it ever happened... I couldn't. I had nightmares of him, his body twisted in terrible positions... bloody, broken, bruised... His little smile and his loud laugh were almost worse than his screams, and cries. Knowing I took that joy away from him, that I broke things in him that probably would never be repaired.

I became the very thing I hated most in the world, my father. I did awful, terrible things to the most precious being I'd ever met. The best thing to ever walk into my life, the one thing to ever truly love me and never let me down. The sweetest, gentlest soul... lied to, degraded, hurt.

I wasn't sure how to live with this. I couldn't live with this.

I remember him crying, begging me to get help. Offering his support, trying his best to talk to me, to get me to just communicate. I had ignored him every time. He tried so hard. None of that mattered to me. Not then.