"Maybe" | Denki Kaminari [COMPLETED]

Chapter Thirteen: Pain

As I stood in front of the mirror in my new dorm room (we'd moved in earlier that day), my dripping hair tangled and half in my eyes, I ran through the pros and cons of my decision in my head. The Symbol of Peace, All Might, was all but gone, leaving the world without its greatest hero. The villains had nearly succeeded in killing a few of my classmates. All for One had returned, but was in captivity. The crime rate had already increased, and I could tell the heroes were struggling to keep everything under control. They needed every advantage they could get.

I was going to rejoin the League of Villains.

I doubted my decision and nearly talked myself out of it. But I braided my hair and laced up my boots and made myself take each step to the warehouse. I'd found a note with an address on it when I returned to my apartment, saying "We're waiting."

I knocked once on the side door. When nobody answered, I knocked again, twice this time. Then the door swung open to a dimly lit room.

"The prodigal villain returns," Shigaraki rasped from his perch on a crate. "Did you bring an army of your hero friends to finish us off?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Why shouldn't you? You hate us."

"I do," I said, my lip curling in disgust. "I really do hate you. Fortunately for you, I hate the heroes more."

"What happened to the honorable hero who risked her life to save a few measly students?"

"She never existed. The heroes were onto me. They suspected. I had to earn their trust somehow."

"By ruining the plan?"

"Are you mad that you got shot?" I crossed my arms in front of me. "Was your ego bruised? Because when your attack on the USJ failed, which I knew it would, my cover would have been completely blown because I did nothing to stop you even though I had every opportunity. I would have been caught and thrown in jail, if not killed, for being the villain I am. You succeeded in the end, didn't you? The symbol of peace is gone, we're all alive, and I've managed to remain within the ranks of heroes despite everything you do to try and stop me."

A man I didn't recognize whistled. The entire warehouse was silent, save for the sounds of my breathing.

"That was quite a speech," Shigaraki said. "Alright, consider yourself one of us again, but there will be repercussions for your actions."

"As expected."

"But first, try to hit me."

"What?"

He shrugged. "Punch me. I know you want to."

"You're right," I said, taking off my jacket. "I do." I swung at the side of his head, but before I could make contact, my legs were kicked out from under me. As I stumbled, trying to regain my balance, a hand made contact with my back, sending me to the ground.

"Gullible as ever," Shigaraki hissed. "Toga, will you do the honors?"

"Gladly," a girl's voice squealed. She couldn't have been much older than me from the sound of it.

"Here's the thing, Yamikawa," Shigaraki said as the tip of the knife cut through my skin. And I had to let it. If I didn't, I would decay in a matter of minutes. "If I don't make an example of you, what's to stop the rest of the League from having a hero phase, too? You can't just run off to be a hero any time you want. If you're a villain, you stay a villain."

I hissed in pain as the knife cut deeper. "I hate you."

"I know you do. And it's that hate that will make you the best villain this world has ever seen."

The wind whipped through my hair, blowing it across my vision. I stood facing the evening sun as its blood-red light spilling over the city. The clouds floated through the sky like puffs of smoke from a gun. The peace of the sky was in stark contrast to the thoughts swirling through my head. None of the words agreed with each other. 

You'll break before long. 

Someone can fix you. 

No one can fix you. You're a mess that will just get messier. How many people have died because of you? 

How many have been saved? 

Think about everyone that will die. It's not enough. Nothing you do will ever be enough to make up for the mess you are. There's nothing anyone can do to fix this. 

I'm already so, so broken.

I glanced down at my phone. On the screen was a notification from Denki: Where are you?  I typed back, ignoring the tears blurring my vision, I'm on the roof. And then in a second, third, and fourth message: I'm going to heal. Don't try to follow. Send someone to the back of the dorms in a few minutes. Someone strong. Tokoyami, maybe. Don't send one of the girls.

I shut down my phone and tucked it into my pocket. I walked one more time around the square of roof I was on and took in the beauty of the sunset spilling over the buildings and trees and cars. I wished everything in the world could be so beautiful. If it were, I wouldn't need to leave. As I sat on the edge of the dorms, the still-bleeding cuts on my back protested. My jacket was covering them, but I felt the blood seep into the waistband of my jeans. I wouldn't let any more knives cut through my skin. I was done. It was too much, and I wouldn't let it happen. I didn't know how to fix it, except how I was about to.

I stood against the wind, letting it precariously push me forwards. As I did, the pain from my back faded. I smiled, even as I heard a voice screaming. I couldn't hear what they were saying, even when I listened closer. I decided I didn't care and stepped off the side of the building.

I closed my eyes as the wind blew against my face. They say the world begins to slow when someone is falling, but I found it to be quite the opposite. Time seemed to speed up.

Time stopped when arms wrapped around my shoulders and legs, and time restarted when something pulled taunt, making the owner of the arms let out a grunt.

I fought against the arms. Let me go, I wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come. I want to go.

"Kaiya," the person said.

"Let me go," I managed to whisper. "Please."

"Kaiya, I can't."

"Please," I sobbed.

"I love you too much to let you do this to yourself."

I squeezed my eyes shut against Denki's shoulder and tried to stop the wracking sobs. "I can't do it. I'm not--I'm not strong enough. I can't."

"I've got you. It's okay."

"It's not okay. Nothing is okay."

I felt, rather than saw, the people gathering. The tension from the rope was released, and voices followed. I blocked them out, whether my tears or anger did the job for me, I didn't care. I eventually blacked out with rage coursing through me: rage that I was in pain, rage that I was alive.