This was the seventh time he'd been chained down in the basement. And it had only been the second day of his imprisonment.
Still, it wouldn't have been any different from the first six times if it weren't for the phantom pain pulsing in his stomach. Due to numerous chores that had been assigned to him two weeks ago piling up as punishment, he'd forgotten about chopping the firewood for use that night as the winter chill seemed to be making itself present this year. Some rooms were left with no heat from their fireplace and Atsushi had been burned by the iron poker to remind him of the consequences of negligence, or so the headmaster said.
He recalled overwhelming pain that seemed to sear through his whole being. The wound had been raw and swollen even after a few days. The patches of skin were now horribly disfigured as the scabs kept getting torn off, not being given enough time to heal since the man didn't stop from giving him more chores, more punishments.
Tonight, the cold was especially severe and it made his wound throb in agony. While it had already left a seemingly permanent scar on his skin, it still occasionally ached either during freezing nights like this or through warmer periods. He curled in on himself and the chains rattled with his movement, reminding him of the bruises surrounding his right wrist. He learned early on that as long as he didn't struggle in his restraint, he wouldn't worsen the bruises with welts or burns from the effort.
Atsushi glared at his feet. It was easier to hate the man. But then–
"There are monsters out there crueler than me lurking about,"
He closed his eyes to stop the onslaught of tears that came unbidden as his mind rang with that reminder. His hand gripped the metal pin tightly in his left hand, something he'd taken to keeping with him ever since the fourth time he'd been shackled. This tiny piece of metal could be his way to freedom, he'd even practiced for it. He knew that and still, still, he hesitated as he remembered the words of the headmaster. He was scared.
Would going out there to escape from this hell be any different?
Atsushi's hand tightened over the pin.
.
.
In the end, he stayed. Because he didn't know any world other than the orphanage. He was used to it. Familiar was safe.
Until it wasn't.
.
.
Atsushi blankly stared at his hands, imprisoned once again in the basement.
He didn't know why he remembered it.
How it felt to have his nails tear so easily into the man's neck, like hot knife through butter, and the warmth of blood, of life, staining his face, his hands. He recalled seeing claws, of his roar, and he knew. That was him. That monster had been him. Suddenly, the usual shackle on his right wrist weighed heavier than he remembered, meant more than just the sleepless nights forcing him to be alone and locked up in a dark, dark place.
There was the sound of scraping metal, followed by the heavy steps of the man that was the master of his torment.
Atsushi didn't dare raise his head to glare, like he always did, and instead buried his face between his knees.
"Do you know why you're locked up in here?" The headmaster questioned him.
Asking him that, Atsushi was now starting to realize, was something he always did. One he'd always thought intended to mock his predicament. His grip around his knees tightened, a hollow feeling in his chest. It had been days since that day. At first, he'd been too numb to properly contemplate what he'd done. But, being locked up in here, alone with his thoughts, he couldn't voice out the usual loathing he always threw in the headmaster's face.
Shame wasn't exactly new to him, it was always what this man brought out of him no matter the circumstances.
Shame of living, shame of having nothing to live for.
I killed that man, he wanted to say but having no courage. Fear that saying it out loud would make it into the irreversible truth he wasn't ready to acknowledge.
"What did you do to him?" Atsushi found himself whispering, wanting an answer but still dreading the worst. This was something he'd always wondered about. What had happened to him? Why was he even still allowed to stay here as if nothing had happened? As if he just hadn't transformed into a beast of pure destruction and the first thing he did was snap and kill that man. Atsushi didn't even know him. If he did, he couldn't remember.
Pain was prominent in those hazy moments of confusion.
Atsushi didn't even want to think about what led to his loss of control.
"Does it matter?" A hand roughly grabbed his hair, forcibly lifting his head and was met with the impassive face of his tormentor. "The dead will stay dead. You're alive. The living has no business with the departed." His eyes darkened with an unnamed emotion, almost like sadness, a little bit of grief, and too much bitterness.
"I–" His throat closed up, his heart thundering, unable to say the words. I killed that man.
"I thought you hated me," A cross between a twisted smile and a grimace appeared on the headmaster's face. "Where's that insolence you're so insistent on showing to my face?" He demanded as he pulled Atsushi's head higher while the boy shifted slightly to his feet to lessen the pain on his scalp.
Despite himself, he couldn't muster the usual resentment. All he felt was overwhelming remorse. It was consuming him.
"Why don't you just let me go?" He finally allowed himself to cry, something he promised he wouldn't do in front of this man. "You were right. You were right all along. I'm just a kid abandoned by everyone. And why wouldn't they? I'm a monster. You're keeping a monster in this orphanage–" Atsushi felt himself laughing hysterically at the thought, allowing himself to acknowledge why he was being chained to this basement most of the time.
A rabid beast, that rush of power, it would be so, so easy to end–
He was interrupted from his frenzy by a resounding slap to his cheek. It was enough to send him out of his negative spiral.
"You're not allowed to hate yourself," The hand holding him released its grip from his hair, sending him collapsing to the ground.
Atsushi just curled on his knees and sobbed.
It was easier to hate the man, he knew. But it was always to easiest to hate himself. How could he not?
When he knew that he was as helpless as he was before.
Contrary to what he thought, this didn't change anything. It simply proved that the man was right all along.
.
.
After that, Atsushi was more conscious of the periods he was locked up.
Most of the time, he noted that there was always a full moon. Other times it wasn't, he wasn't even kept down there for more than a day. He never asked about the man he'd killed again, about his body, who he was. He understood that the headmaster had covered it up, for whatever reason that compelled the man. And with that understanding came the silent agreement that it would never be brought up again.
The orphanage was still the same hell he'd always known. It didn't exactly change. But, being there, it made him paranoid of his own skin, of the beast thrumming underneath.
Ever since that incident, he now had some lucid moments when transformed. Some were still punctuated by flashes that were driven by animalistic instincts, leaving him helpless to his ability. While other times were instances of being in control, trying to get accustomed to a body structure that wasn't human.
At first, Atsushi wondered why he hadn't even noticed a single thing about his– ability. The answer became obvious during one night when his sharper than normal eyes caught the silhouette of the headmaster cautiously guarding the metal gates that he'd been locked in. He was holding a cattle prod and Atsushi had no doubt that if his beast form escaped, the man would not hesitate to use it on him.
It was another special brand of hell that the orphanage became for him.
As if finally being aware of his ability now made him accountable for all the times he'd been ignorant, the punishment became much harsher, more painful and unbearable. And with it, Atsushi was made aware of another side to his power. Whatever injury, bruise, or damage he acquired from his treatment, it wouldn't leave any trace and be gone the next morning. Aside from the burns that were given to him before, there weren't any hints of his abuse.
He always thought that as long as he was alive, it was another chance to make something of himself. That he could endure little by little until he could make it out there.
But death sounded like relief from this never-ending nightmare.
.
.
"You thought you could get away with it," The headmaster stated lowly, eyes shadowed as he eyed a trembling Atsushi on the ground who was on his hand and knees.
His tiny hands clenched, eyes firmly fixed on the broken bowl on the floor and the spilt ochazuke he'd made for himself. He was just so hungry, he was punished with no meal for the day. This hadn't been exactly the first time he'd snuck into the kitchen in order to fix himself something to eat. The other kids weren't really fond of tea so they had several sitting untouched in the cabinets and most of the rice he ate anyway were the burnt ones left sticking at the bottom of the pot.
"I was…" He heard himself murmuring listlessly. "…just hungry," A humorless smile made its way to his lips.
The blow that came after that statement was entirely expected.
His foot still throbbed when he'd fallen down the stairs earlier, having been pushed down by some kids. It was as if they'd sense the more hostile behavior the caretakers favored him with which they began emulating. He was now mostly the subject of bullying and humiliation. His now uneven hair could attest to that.
That same foot was what had tripped him up earlier in his quest to hide when the cook entered back the kitchen.
His cheek throbbed in agony but he ignored it, not wanting to meet the judging stare that always seemed to be fixed on the headmaster's face.
"How far you've fallen," The man murmured. "You've already forgotten what it's like to hate," There was a strange undertone to his voice that had Atsushi's head snapping to him in alarm. "Let me show you the error of your ways and maybe you can stop being a useless waste of space," He stepped forward purposefully and the eight-year old's eyes widened as the man grabbed a knife from the counter.
Is he going to–
His mouth dropped open in a silent screech as his hand was stabbed to the ground, watching as blood slowly pooled beneath the wound. He frantically tried to pull it off his hand but pulled back in shock as he sliced his palms on the blade.
The headmaster stood up, staring down at Atsushi as he held next what was within reach. A butcher knife.
He really is going to kill me, he thought numbly.
Atsushi's heartbeat sped up, fear unlike no other getting ahold of him. His breathing became erratic, felt something like fire consuming his being. This was it. He was going to die. Death was coming for him. He needed this release. But he was so, so scared, feeling bile climb the back of his throat–
–and he knew no more.
.
.
He woke up with a gasp, feeling his limbs ache.
Surrounded by trees, shrubbery and dirt, outside the orphanage. Outside of hell. But then, his eyes shifted to his hands, to the dried blood on his fingers, in his fingernails, all over his hands, and he remembered panicking and transforming and the terror in the headmaster's face–
Sitting up abruptly, he twisted to his side and heaved.
He recalled the familiar feeling of claws tearing through flesh, of blood, of his instincts blaring in alarm and making a break for it. He wished he didn't. Do those things. He was supposed to die, to be killed. He wasn't supposed to kill another. He wasn't supposed to be vulnerable to his ability. Atsushi wished that he didn't remember, that he remained ignorant of what was inside of him, of the monster.
Though, he couldn't stop the sobs from escaping his dry throat.
He also wished that he wasn't relieved. That he was alive, that the headmaster might be dead–
Atsushi hated himself the most.
.
.
Walking up as far as his feet would take him, Atsushi found himself a residence under a bridge.
It had been sixteen hours, forty-three minutes and some seconds since he woke up. Feeling the iciness clawing within him once again, he hastily crawled towards the river and vigorously scrubbed at his hands. He knew that the blood had long since washed out the first time he'd cleansed them. But, right now, his brain wouldn't agree with his eyes and kept telling his body to wash the blood away–
Atsushi's vision blurred, feeling something warm and wet dropping on his wrists.
He just couldn't remove the stains.
.
.
Being homeless and on the street was not as hard as he envisioned.
At least, it was paradise compared to the orphanage. He pursed his lips and tried not to think of that hell. But still, the adults around here ignored him. Most of them deemed him to be just a waste of their time to deal with. Others were wearier, of course, especially when Atsushi lingered outside convenience stores and stalls. Though, one time, he'd helped out an old woman sort out boxes of merchandise for her stall when he'd seen her struggling and she'd paid him with a sandwich and a glass of milk.
She had pitied him, instead of scorning him like the rest for being a street rat. She'd asked him to help with sorting out goods when they were delivered every Mondays and Fridays and she'd always given him food as payment. She'd said that she had a young granddaughter the same age as him living in Tokyo. And she would hate it if no one would help her if she was ever put in his position. And she was really getting old, she said it was the least she could do.
Atsushi merely smiled and kept silent about his real thoughts. You're helping a monster, his mind whispered. I'm sorry.
If he'd been any older, he had the right thought that he would be merely seen as another useless member of the society and, thus, scorned with no help whatsoever. As much as he hated taking advantage of his young age, he knew adults tended to be more lenient towards him because of it.
Still, there had been still those adults who looked at him with mistrust, always on alert in his presence and it worried him that they might know–
"Don't mind them," Shibuki Atsuko, seventy-seven years old, waved her hand in dismissal with a small smile on one summer afternoon. "As much as I hate to admit it, you're not a special case, Atsushi-chan. You're not the first homeless child that graced these streets. You just happened to be a helpful one. But there are lots of children in the slums who wouldn't hesitate to cause a stir in this area and steal. It's because of this that some of the people started to resent them instead of showing them compassion. We all got our lives to look out for, after all." She hummed with a sad undertone in her voice.
"I thought of it, though," Atsushi admitted with a small humorless smile, masking his relief. "Stealing, that is. I couldn't help it, I was so hungry. But, all my life, I've been taught to work for what I want. So, it felt… inappropriate to just take food for myself. That afternoon, just like this one, Atsuko-san was by herself and no one was coming to help you. That was my opportunity. In the end, I just couldn't do it. Because I'm scared," He exhaled as he let the truth out, wondering when had anyone let him calmly explain his side like this.
It was oddly calming. Atsushi didn't know being heard like this could bring him this kind of peace.
"You're a wise child, Atsushi-chan. Have you ever heard of the saying 'give a man a fish, you feed him for a day,'" She paused in the middle of drinking her tea. "'but teach him how to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime.'. I wish that I've taught you enough how to fish. Then this old lady's worries can finally be put to rest." Shibuki gave a small laugh, something bittersweet in her expression.
His hands clenched around his own cup. He taught me how to fish and I hate that he's still the one feeding me this lifetime.
There were still thoughts that would remain unsaid.
And Atsushi found that, even so, he was strangely fine with that.
.
.
It was raining rather hard. So, most of the stalls were closed, including Shibuki's.
And Atsushi had never come there without working, he didn't want to impose more than he already had.
So, here he was, under the bridge as his natural habitat.
He'd gone to the slums once, hoping to meet a child his age, but had been robbed of his shoes as a consequence by a gang of children and he'd stared with wide horrified eyes as the adults turned the other way. He wasn't disturbed because he'd been mugged in broad daylight but because one of those adults had come to kick one of the kids around for being too 'loud'. Atsushi had thought that the orphanage had followed him after all.
He'd never gone back there after that, too bothered to see hell outside of the orphanage.
It had already been three weeks since he'd camped out here and tomorrow night was going to be a full moon. Atsushi never thought of the consequences if he ever got away but now, he was starting to understand why the headmaster kept him despite the effects of housing a monster like him.
He couldn't stop the well of bitterness at how a lot of things were starting to make sense about that man.
Biting his lip, he huddled further into the warm blanket Shibuki had given him. It was cold and his fire had run out a long while ago, embers dying with the winds. He thought of the innocent people around him, of Shibuki, of that family that always checked in on Shibuki, of that man who always had extra bread to deliver, of that, that–
He needed to get away, far enough from killing anyone.
.
.
"It's cold," He murmured to himself as he huddled himself by the crates, hugging his knees to cultivate some warmth.
He didn't exactly know where he was. He'd wandered far enough, Atsushi thought, and there weren't a lot of people around the area to mind him sneaking about. He'd found this empty warehouse by chance in the middle of an abandoned port. Having stayed in this place the whole day, it was a fitting spot to reside while he transformed. He'd even tied his ankle with a rope he'd found lying around to a metal beam, hoping and wishing despite knowing that it was useless.
Eyes firmly fixed on the dark sky and the oncoming full moon, he waited.
The moment the moonlight had reached his skin, his sight was momentarily blinded by the bright glow that signal his transformation. He felt himself huff as hands and feet were substituted with paws, his eyesight adjusted to the darkness of the warehouse, his senses heightening to unbelievable levels, and felt every shift of his muscle with every breath.
Atsushi decided that tonight was one of the good nights.
He tried to step off to prowl inside the warehouse but stop at the insistent tug on his foot and saw the rope. Right. Exhaling, he proceeded to curl up by the beam instead. Wishing for more nights like this one.
.
.
"These apples look rather good," An older boy remarked as he stared intently at the red fruits.
Atsushi blinked at him. He was the one minding the stall for Shibuki today as she felt a little bit under the weather. He was worried about her and preferred that he watched over her instead. But she was a persistent woman and insisted that she would appreciate it more if he could make himself useful instead of fretting over her.
"T-They were just delivered this morning," Atsushi stuttered as he fidgeted.
This was the first time that he was actively interacting with a kid. A little older than him, maybe a few years, but still a kid nonetheless.
"Huh?" The unknown smiled.
Then, he swiped one of the fruits from the rack before trying to take a bite. Atsushi had only reacted a bit faster, grabbing his wrist in a tight hold with narrowed eyes. He watched as something like intrigue shifted on the boy's face, as if he was dissecting Atsushi himself. It was unnerving.
He wasn't from the slums or a street rat, that much was obvious from the way he was dressed. Long sleeved button up with a black tie, black slacks and leather shoes, topped with a dark coat. And that wasn't even mentioning the bandages he had wrapped around his neck and arms down to his wrists. In fact, in this market district, he stood out a lot. He was taller than Atsushi by a few margins but he didn't carry himself the way those bullies back at the orphanage did.
He didn't want to know why a kid so young was dressed like that in the first place and tried not to feel self-conscious of the what he wore.
"Relax, I'm going to pay for them, you know," A huff of laughter.
"Then pay for it first," Atsushi wasn't going to be deterred, he wasn't going to let down Shibuki.
Something was thrown to his face and he reacted on instinct as he let go of the older kid's hand to catch it. He scowled as he stared at the five-hundred-yen coin in his hand before glaring at the older kid who smirked, munching on his apple.
Who the hell is this bastard? The eight-year-old wondered with trepidation, not liking the obvious amusement the other was getting out of this.
"'Who the hell is this handsome jerk making fun of me?'" The other said out loud with a raised eyebrow. "That's what you were thinking, right? The name's Dazai Osamu." He grinned as he took another bite from his apple, as if he knew that it would irritate Atsushi. The nerve of this guy, he even admitted to making fun of Atsushi.
"It's nice to meet you, Dazai-san," Atsushi forced out a smile, his brow twitching.
Dazai stared at him, obviously waiting for something.
Atsushi ignored him as he fervently prayed the older boy would finally make himself scarce.
"You're supposed to give your name in return," Dazai finally pouted as he crouched on the ground. "That's common courtesy, right?" He frowned as if in deep thought and Atsushi prayed for patience, he dearly wished the hurt in his tone was feigned.
He gave in.
"Atsushi." He finally sighed in exasperation.
.
.
Contrary to his belief, that was the last he'd seen of Dazai.
He was afraid that telling the other his name had been equivalent to giving the other permission to pester him. That encounter had been odd. Not to mention, it wasn't until he was recounting the event to Shibuki that evening that he was struck with the thought that the older boy was familiar. He just couldn't figure out how. It was the first time Atsushi had ever talked to him and he found it odd that Dazai felt familiar to him.
Still, there had been something even more peculiar. Shibuki's reaction.
She had gone silent the moment he'd described Dazai in detail, even going as far as to tell him to stay away from that boy.
Atsushi was generally distrustful of adults, due to his experience in the orphanage, and meeting Shibuki was like a change of pace, a taste of the life that was denied from him. And he wondered if he just imagined the chill that went down his spine.
"Don't associate with bad apples, Atsushi-chan," She'd said with a certain stillness to her form, in the middle of serving him some rice for lunch. "You don't want to get tangled with the tree it came from," Her voice was light, in contrast to the depth of her words.
He wondered why he was suddenly scared.
Of her.
.
.
Hefting the bag with a bit of apprehension, he squared his shoulders before stepping into the alley of the slums.
His eyes zeroed in on a group of children huddled by the corner, their gaze intently fixed on the plastic bags he was holding. Despite his protests, Shibuki had insisted on giving him allowance in exchange for his services. It was nothing much. Still, the only thing he'd ever bought for himself were second-hand clothes that fit him better and shoes. Aside from that, he'd racked up some income in hopes that he could put it to better use in the future.
He still lived under a bridge, he was still an orphan, a street rat in the loosest sense of the word, but he wasn't as penniless.
In a sense, he was lucky that someone took pity on him. Something that that hell never game him.
"Who are you?" A girl stepped out from the group, her long dark hair covering most of her face.
He could see some of the kids who'd robbed him before, their eyes not quite directly meeting his own. His lips pursed as he realized that the one who was beaten before was not present and tried not to think of him. These children were in a different hell from him, were the victims of the monsters outside the orphanage. The ones that the headmaster had always taunted him about and he knew that it was always a different kind of nightmare for every person.
"No one," Atsushi answered her as he stepped forward, not bothered by how they tensed. "No one at all."
With that, he tossed the bags towards them. Watching as they stumbled over each other in scrambling backwards from being hit before their eyes widened. There were several kinds of bread in both plastics, ones he'd purchased from a bakery that always gave Shibuki discounts. Those cost him at least half of what he had but it was the least he could give, it would never be enough, but he just wanted to stop feeling so guilty.
This world outside the orphanage was his freedom. In contrast, this world was these children's hell.
They cautiously approached his offering, eyes full of distrust.
"Why?" The girl was unmoved, her eyes intently glued to Atsushi's face.
"Because I want to," He simply answered.
He knew his answer shocked her judging from her wide eyes and he took that opportunity to smile at her before running away.
Atsushi told himself that it wasn't because they reminded him of himself.
.
.
His ears twitched when he heard a set of footsteps.
Atsushi raised his head and silently skulked behind the crates to get a better view of what was going on. This was his fourth full moon. He resisted from growling out loud when he saw Dazai, without the coat, kicked down on the floor by an unknown man. His instincts were screaming for him to tear the man apart but he resolutely stayed behind in order to assess what's going on. He hated watching an adult beating down on kids. No matter how insufferable Dazai had been, he didn't deserve this treatment.
"You little sneak," The man growled angrily, unaware of their audience. "You think you can run away after getting cozy in our territory. I don't know whose dog you are, but the boss ain't letting someone like you get away with shit," With that proclamation, he brought out a gun and pointed it at Dazai.
"If I'm a dog, then what does that make you exactly?" Dazai spoke condescendingly and Atsushi felt a quick wave of irritation at the older boy's attitude.
He figured that it was either Dazai's mouth that got himself into trouble or his arrogance. A little bit of both, no doubt.
Atsushi figured out a long time ago that this warehouse was empty for a reason. That in this part of town, a lot of organized crimes took place and was spearheaded by different local groups that brought terror to the Yokohama residents. It was why he'd kept coming back here. Only for the sole reason that if he'd ever let loose, his ability would at least go after the bad people. That was what he'd assume. At least, until he saw Dazai, someone who was not much older than him.
"Besides, you don't get to talk big." Dazai had the nerve to smirk at the guy, eyes gleeful despite the split lip and bruises. "It was pathetically easy for me, a brat, to infiltrate your sorry excuse of an organization."
"Why you–" The man turned a sickly shade of purple, apoplectic, as his hand tightened on the handle of his gun and pulled the trigger.
Atsushi thought he heard enough and pounced on the man, ignoring the snap of the rope around his ankle.
There was a loud yelp as the bullet tore through his shoulder, sullying his pristine coat with blood and, in this form, Atsushi found himself barely flinching as he felt the bullet drop to ground as his wound readily healed itself. Instead, he closed his jaws around the man's hand, shaking the gun out of his hand, and swung him towards the crates in retaliation. He released a loud growl towards the groaning man's form.
Though, he paused when he saw Dazai slowly approaching the man. Every line of the older boy's posture screaming intent.
Before Atsushi had any time to properly decide his course of action, Dazai had already pulled out a knife from his person and crouched as he mercilessly stabbed the near unconscious man on the chest. Atsushi froze in shock. Dazai didn't stop there, he dragged the knife out of the body before stabbing it on the man's stomach, twisting the blade regardless of the gurgling, and finally spearing it into the man's neck. They both watched as blood pooled beneath the body and life slowly drained out of his eyes.
It eerily reminded Atsushi of that man, the man he'd killed–
Atsushi had never seen someone murder in cold blood.
Dazai stood up and turned to look at him, face and clothes stained with blood, blood.
There was a smile on his face.
"It's nice seeing you here, Atsushi-kun,"
.
.
The next day, Atsushi stood numbly in horror as he watched the fire consuming Shibuki's stall.
.
.
TBC.