#takerutakeda

It was silent.

The wind blew past him, and he felt almost completely numb.

The sky was a dull blue. It looked like it was going to rain soon.

His stomach hurt, his face ran with tears.

It was okay. It was going to be over soon. You're okay Takeru. They never loved you anyway, no? You're relieving them of a burden. You likely never meant much anyway.

He took a deep breath in. It was an unstable, trembling breath. He clenched his fists.

Everything felt blurry, it felt like his mind was in another place. It felt like there was someone else there. Like there was someone or something holding him back.

As takeru stared into the lake, he could only think of Rui. He'd been bullied in the past, he'd had a lot of shit happen to him.

...

But nobody had ever told him to kill himself so directly, so suddenly.

God, he was being pathetic. It was just one comment. He shouldn't be taking it so seriously.

Its okay to be sensitive. Its okay to hurt, especially after everything he's gone through.

He's being dramatic.

He should stay safe!

Don't do it.

Do it Takeru. You're pathetic.

The rain began to pour, heavily. It pounded against his skin and drenched his hair. It wasn't fair.

His head was in pain, his eyes stung, his fists hurt from clenching them so tightly.

Do it Takeru.

Do it.

JUST DO IT, YOU FUCKING COWARD!

The next thing he knew, he was surrounded by water. He was holding himself down, allowing himself to sink. He wanted to be saved, but at the same time, this was freeing. He no longer had to worry. He no longer had to care.

But it would be nice if someone came for him. If someone cared. That feeling had felt too foreign for a while now.

The last person he ever recalled caring for him was a person he cant bear to think about. She took every ounce of confidence he had, but she made him feel loved, even if he was terrified at the same time.

It was going to be over now.

He wouldn't have to remember.

Destroyed.

At the age of 10, he was destroyed. His trust was broken, and he no longer felt safe in his body, his home, his mind. It was all gone. Her eyes were on him. Always. Forever. Her hands, her-

...

It made him sick just to think about it.

The days she had spent watching him. For 4 years after the incident. If it were any other context, she would be considered an obsessive, romantic lover. But it wasn't that.

He didn't want this love. He didn't need it.

His hands pinned above his head. Any sense of trust ripped away in just a moment. And that abuse lasted for a week. She eventually gave up on using him. She wanted to yearn from afar, she wanted to desire but never have.

And nobody believed him.

They told him that even if it was true, to get stronger. A man should not be hurt by a woman.

Only a pathetic child would let that happen.

...

But he was a child, wasn't he? Why was it any different? Why didn't they treat him the same? Why did he have to be strong.

He never had any friends, but somehow that woman, that woman who he could only perceive as soulless, as some kind of monster..

She made him feel the most loved he had ever felt.

And he hated it more than anything.

It was as if his mind shattered without him even realizing it. It broke itself apart, and put itself together again.

As he grew, so did the fragments of his mind, but he never realized it.

He never realized his fight to protect himself as he grew.

It was as if he had lost control of his mind and body. Like he was a constant spectator.

His mental health only got worse the older he got. First he picked up self harm, then drugs..

And then it went to his first attempt. He had tried to stab himself. It was unbearably painful, he had never had a high pain tolerance no matter how deep he cut. He was found bleeding out in his bathroom and rushed to the hospital, however, his parents insisted he toughen up rather than seeking out professional help for him.

Drugs were all he had now, and his addictions only got more severe.

His mind was hardly holding itself together. He was tormented by constant headaches.

He was no longer himself.

The real Takeru hadn't been to the front room in god knows how long. The real Takeru was different. The real Takeru was loving. The real Takeru was sweet. He was soft. He was kind. He would never hurt anyone or himself. He wasn't addicted.

All he could do now was watch from behind his eyes as unfamiliar figures fought for control.

Takeru, oh Takeru!

Where did you go?

Takeru, oh Takeru!

...