Disclaimer: I don't own anybody 'cept for this version of Ken's mother.
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Of Band-Aids and Broken Hearts – Ken Joshima
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Ken hated mirrors; he hated anything that would give him a reflection of himself. For every glance he had, his throat would become dry and the pain would come once again. He looked too much like his Father. The same shade of blonde hair, the same angled face, the same pointed nose. He didn't remember much about his father though. There was one feature of his that Ken remembered acutely. His smirk. Ken had the exact same one, wild and beast like.
He hated that.
He looked nothing like his mother. She was a small brunette, with long tresses that curled slightly at the tips. Full lips and soft features. The only part of his face that Ken liked was his eyes. His mother's eyes, sharp and angled, with heavy lashes bordering the bottom line.
He saw his mother in his eyes, and it made his face all the more bearable.
Ken didn't really remember much about his father, he just remembered that he was the one to make his mother cry. He could still remember how he had pushed her against the wall, drowning her petite frame with his.
He could still remember how she was crying.
He could still remember thinking that his mother must have fallen over and hurt herself and his father was helping her. He had wanted to help too. He had gone upstairs to grab a Band-Aid; after all, Mama always gave him a Band-Aid when he was crying from falling over or when those bullies at his school pushed him over.
She would kiss where it hurt after too, it was just what mothers did.
"Shit. Shit, Can't you do something right for once, woman?" blue clashed with brown. Ken stood at the staircase holding a Band-Aid in his tiny hands, he didn't understand what his Papa was saying, "You got lucky this time, bitch." he growled in her ear.
He smirked.
Ken remembered that smirk, it was so ugly, "Go help your mama, Ken." he had laughed as he passed him, grabbing his jacket and keys before leaving the house.
"Oh Ken." He remembered his mother holding him so tightly and rocking herself slowly before recollecting herself and asking if he wanted pasta with cream sauce or with tomato sauce for dinner.
His father was careful thereafter. Ken never saw his mother cry when his father was in the house. But he definitely heard it.
Sobs and screams.
His mother always came to his room after; she would comb through his hair and tell him that he was the only good thing that happened to her. He had only seen his mother cry in front of him twice. And that was enough to show Ken that she wasn't an impenetrable fortress. She was just another woman, another human being.
Ken could still remember helping his mother out in the kitchen when she suddenly collapsed. She had told him that she was hurting.
When he asked where it was, she had pointed at her chest, "It really hurts Ken. Can I have a Band-Aid?"
He had stuck one right at the base of her neck and then he kissed it, it was the least he could do.
She smiled.
"Thank you sweetie." she paused, "I want you to promise me something."
She had made him promise that when Ken grew up into a big strong man he would never hurt his family. He would never make them cry. And that he would love them always. He had to tell them everyday, just like how his mother told him that she loved him.
The second time Ken saw his mother cry was on the day she died. This memory was surprisingly crystal clear and every time he closed his eyes, he would relive the pain of her death.
He had come home from school, just to see his Mama crying and screaming, begging his father for something. Father's face was getting redder by the second, he was getting mad. Then, he saw Ken.
The man had scooped his son up, just to have his wife fighting him with tooth and nail, "Fuck, woman! Can't you just leave it!"
Ken saw what his father did. He had pushed Mama just like how those bullies at his school had pushed him.
The next couple seconds weren't like the movies at all. Time didn't slow down, nor did it stop at all. His father pulled the trigger and his mother fell, her mouth still shaped in the shape of an O. Begging her husband not to take her son away.
Point blank.
And then Ken found himself in a tiny black room with a boy named Chikusa Kakimoto. They learned quickly, this was not home; this was a cage to store bad children. Bad children would be 'experimented' on. And experimentation hurt. It hurt a lot.
But then Mukuro-sama came. He was their savior. It was another person he could look for comfort in.
Just like his mother.
He had saved them, releasing both Ken and Chikusa out into the world. It was a world that Ken hadn't seen in ever so long.
But he couldn't leave so quickly. He had to complete a task that he was haunted by for years.
He found him chatting it up with another woman. He dealt with the female first, his father watching with wide eyes.
"I'll give you a five seconds head start. Run." Ken started counting in his mother's home language, "Ichi, ni, san, shi, go."
His father was still stuck in that spot, quivering, "Now, Ken. You don't want to hurt me. I'm your father, remember?" his voice strained.
"Coward." what he was about to do his father was nothing compared to what he had done to his mother.
He attacked. He tore through his father's flesh like it was butter; he didn't even realize that it was time to leave.
"Ken. Let's go." he didn't hear Chikusa calling him; he just kept on tearing at his father's body.
One hundred scratches, one hundred bites, and one hundred stabs just weren't enough. It wasn't enough for him to atone for what he had done to Mama. He had taken the easy way out. He died at fifty strikes. Coward.
"Ken." Chikusa called out, stronger this time. He still didn't listen.
"Have you seen yourself? It's disgusting." Ken spun around to glare at his comrade and through Chikusa's dark glasses he saw his reflection.
That same smirk grinned back at him. It made him feel sick, in the end, he couldn't escape his father. His mother couldn't either.
Ken stood up and followed the other boy out the blood stained room, but not before giving one last scathing look at his father's mangled remains.
He had really outdone himself this time.
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A/N : I feel bad for doing this to Ken's Mama and himself. Not really caring for the Dad though. Just to clear things up, this says domestic violence all over and it is NEVER limited to the man hiting the woman. I just want people to know that it could be the other way around as well. I just used this stereotype for this story since the Mafia is mainly dominated by men and it would have been weird having Ken's mother as a Mob Woman. :D
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Review please? *puppy dog eyes and pout*
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