TW: Referenced Suicide Attempt

Ouma's POV:

The azure sky had been sewn with stars as I walked around the darkened forest, the tall and looming trees threatening to swallow me whole as they captured me and had stolen the night, the brief breaks of starlight illuminating the ground ahead of me. The woods left me no path to follow, it was truly wild and undisturbed by man, tiny flowers I had forgotten the name of lined the paths and the grass felt plush beneath my feet.

Each step I took felt as if it had been a thousand, exhaustion seeping my bones yet I couldn't find any escape, even if I closed my eyes the ache wouldn't give away into sleep anymore. Arctic chills were sent across the wind, the slightest scent of salt in the air as I continued to walk embracing myself trying to cling onto the little warmth I could. The trees screamed widely in the night, rustling with the harsh winds.

As voices and whispers cried out from among the foggy landscape, the only lights to guard me, the only light to guide me was the moon which hung over the ink-black horizon. The moon was full and seemed to be almost amber, from the glances I caught it, it always disappeared before I could truly see it. Gone in the blink of an eye, and left me with a feeling of longing.

Finally, a gap opened among the trees and I sprinted, ran past the screaming trees as I found my ankle caught under a root, I tried to scream but nothing came out as I reached my hands out to stop my fall and...

...

...

...

...

...

I woke up to the sight of nothing as I paused sighing, my body ached as I struggled to sit upright. The mattress creaked with every movement, the springs of the bed poked into my back causing immediate pain as I yawned trying to wipe out sleep from my eyes.

My hand hovered over the spot where my wheelchair should have been, before realizing I was only grabbing air... before my brain painfully reminded me of the past days. Of why I was in this creaking bed, and why the air of the room was heavily scented with cinnamon this morning, a scent I had come to despise the longer time had passed. 

Grandmother.

I bit down my bitter resentment as I struggled to reach over to the nightstand and quickly changed as I waited at the bedside. My grandmother had heavily encouraged me to choose my own clothing, yet whatever I wore was never good enough in her eyes. Even if I argued my only real formal clothing or put-together look was my old school uniform. My leg, the one with the remaining feeling throbbed in protest as I squeezed it tight, hissing slightly from the pain. I found myself feeling around the fluffy carpet underneath the bed as I continued to get ready, the texture was almost ticklish. It almost made this room seem homely.

The room once belonged to my mother.

Maybe it was silly, that in a room that hadn't been used in a near two decades I wished it smelled just a little like her. Something close to vanilla, from those few months she worked at a bakery, or the smell of old books from when she worked in storage. I would have been elated if even a brief scent of her had lingered all these years later, waiting for me. As if she was sitting in this room with me, or coming to see me any day now. Instead, the room had the smell of age and decay, a room that had been covered in so much dust it still made me feel sick. Of course, she wasn't here though, and I had a feeling she might have been happy if she knew not a single trace of her existence here had been left behind, past the memories of the occupants of the house. 

I wrapped the thin blanket around me trying to shield out the cold from the rest of the house. The blanket hung down on me as if weighing a hundred pounds, only leading me to try and wrap myself tighter, focusing on the song of sunset reprint from beyond the door. The door was locked again, if I got up at the same time, as usual, it might be two hours before breakfast.

At least you still get food.

I took a deep breath as the door knocked once before the sound of a lock being removed, the chains on the outside clinking slightly, as I noted the padlock was probably already removed, the second the door creaked open protesting her arrival I drew a quick breath, as I put on the smile she made me practice, as she walked inside.

"Keisuke" she greeted, I didn't react to the wrong name anymore and just nodded.

She scoffed.

A mistake.

"What did we practice yesterday?" She asked with a voice of false tenderness. "So...sorry" I apologized and winced at the stuttering, she didn't say anything but sighed louder as I heard things being removed from the tray. "I'm sorry ma'am" she corrected, "you must not want to eat today son," she said with a pitiful tone, yet it came out condescending at best.

"...I'm sorry...ma'am" I drew out hoping the pause would allow me to stop stuttering. She paused before laughing, "that's good" she told me surprised. "They told me you didn't speak for four years, was it? Selective mutism I think is their excuse for people like you, well it's nothing good old fashioned disciplined can't handle" She said with a laugh, I paused and didn't answer as the tray with food was placed on my lap and I quickly began eating before she found something that made me undeserving.

"Four years...yet in just a short week I already have you answering in short sentences, nowhere close to where I want you to be but...it'll have to do for now" she sighed as she passed my hair between her fingers again. I froze but tried not to flinch, as I heard the soft sounds of cutting, the cold metal touching my scalp as the itchy feeling of fallen strands landed primarily down my shirt.

"Why did your mother let your hair grow so long?" She asked in a scolding manner, I paused not sure how to answer. It wasn't as if I ever tried to grow my hair very long before, it's just that cutting longer hair made it easier for one of us to get away with making a mistake. Riko also loved it when Genkei had grown out his own hair, and she would spend hours trying to convince him to let her take care of it, or researching ways to take care of it better...I realized I was lost in thought when a slight stinging awoke me.

She slapped my hand.

A mistake.

"I don't know...ma'am" I quickly lied, hoping my answer sounded sincere, "well I suppose it doesn't matter now...I'll clear out this rat's nest" she sighed as she painfully brushed my hair. "You think that boy would've said something sooner about the poor treatment your mother gave you than you could have moved in sooner. It would have given me more time to help you" she commented.

I froze, Momota's memory flooded me like a wave, his kind smile from before I was robbed of my eyes, his reassurance and the way he desperately tried to learn sign language and his determination every time something was lost in translation to do better...the way he always had a hand out whether or not I had wanted it.

"Fine...I'll wait then...I will wait as long as it takes...but...you need to come back ok?"

"No," I said without thinking, she paused amused. "Did you talk back to me?" She asked calmly, it was her offering mercy, as she gripped onto my shoulder. Her nails were digging into my skin, and I could even feel the drawing of blood, terror ripped through my body as my heart was boiling with fear. It was telling me to retreat, my mind screaming at me to prioritize myself, warning me of every little thing she could do to me and get away with...yet my voice, one that usually swiftly executed plans or lies...

"Momota...Momota is kind" I quickly said as my hands began shaking. She laughed as if I said something silly. "A kind person? A kind person lets someone be abused by their mother? Does a kind person allow for someone to repeatedly attempt to take their own life? That boy wasn't kind Keisuke, he's needy and used you to fulfill his hero complex" She lectured.

"A kind person doesn't make sure someone doesn't speak for years, rather than helping that person he just lets them keep being a detriment to society, a kind person doesn't allow someone to be buried under the weight of those around him, a kind person wouldn't leave you behind because of an illness, that boy was only in your life for a few short years and discarded you just as quickly, is that kindness?" She asked with a condescending tone...

Kaito...I paused as those words truly resonated with me, despite my apprehension...is that really a lie though? He left us, he left me behind and didn't even warn you. He told everyone else that he was leaving, he had a PARTY the day he left and didn't even bother to tell you till he was already out the door. Remember how he burned Saihara with you? No wonder he fled as soon as he could, no wonder Harukawa wants nothing to do with you.

No wonder Kiibo died because of you...I gripped my hands trying to force those thoughts out of my head and only could laugh dryly as a result. That ugly part of myself did exist, after all, that part of me that was a cold and malicious monster...

"How could you be so selfish? Everyone in class...everyone who knows you, don't you know how upset they would be if you died?"

I froze when those words echoed back in my head...a cold silent determination filled my blood. There was only one answer to such an accusation, I always knew that there was only one answer. I nodded. Momota was kind, regardless of how it may seem, he always was. Even to those who didn't deserve it.

I knew it was coming before the half-eaten tray was instead smacked against my head and the sound of glass shattering, a sharp pain flashed in my head and the warm feeling of blood falling as I quickly cradled my wound, as I tried to move away as fast as I could.

"Momota was a coward, say it with me? Momota is not your friend, or there will be consequences" she warned.

Villians should be punished

The words poured into my mind as I paused. She was waiting for my answer, she was waiting for me to repent.

I shook my head.

I screamed as she dragged me by the shoulders, I screamed as loud as I could, my one leg tried to stall her as she pulled me along before I could hear a door opening and the brief feeling of weightlessness before the pain rushed to my head as I felt myself crash against a cold hard floor, my hand became sticky as a soft hazy sound ringing in my ears. My body was motionless and stone as I could barely try and move without the sharp agony searing through my head.

"We'll see about that soon" was all she said as the door closed and locked.

I cradled my body in the cold cement and mouthed out a name. 

But they wouldn't come to save me, would they?