Stranger to the Light
…
Hey, before I start, I guess I should explain this odd story.
Personally, I've always adored Kirara's personality. I also write a lot of angst. And I realised that her mother was a perfect opportunity to embrace my inner angsty-ness. However, I'm pretty sure her mum only yells at her, not hitting her or anything…still.
Also, Kirara x Ren is my favourite crack pairing. I just read 'An Unusual Cliche Love Story' and suddenly I'm shipping them like the deranged fangirl I am.
So, yep…
that's it.
Well, enjoy!
…
Kirara Hazama was, undoubtedly, the outcast in the class of outcasts. Every day she'd sit at her table, half shrouded in the angled shadows, unmoving and silent, watching her classmates through her thick curtain of hair.
There were three facts about Kirara Hazama. One that people realised pretty quickly, one that people wondered about, and one that nobody knew.
Respectively, the three facts were this: she was an extremely well-read girl; she loved the dark (if she could actually physcially love something, that is); and she kept a pair of pliers under her pillow.
Naturally, Hazama's obsession with books, namely ones about supernatural creatures and the occult, was quite obvious with the amount of hardcovers she kept stacked on her desk.
Her obsession with darkness, however, was also quite obvious, but the reasoning behind it was unknown to everyone except for herself.
And the pliers under her pillow was linked to both of these facts. It was also linked to her mother.
—
Kirara Hazama was five years old. Like everyone other five year old, she possessed a body and face that one would describe as 'adorable' in some circumtances. Contradictory to Hazama now, ten years later, she was a well-brought up, good-looking child.
She had just finished drawing a messy sketch of her mother and had bounded to the woman's side to show her.
Before the story comtinues, however, it was important to know that her mother, whom she had wanted to show the drawing to, had just come back from a restaurant, and she had consumed an abnormally large amount of alcohol.
She was also prone to screaming fits.
This series of events was how the pliers found their way under her pillow.
Kirara Hazama had shown her mother the drawing. At first, the woman had seemed pleased. But then that joy melted into an unreadable expression.
Simply, Hazama had not done her homework, as she had been working on the picture.
That was what threw her mother into a screaming fit.
Hazama did not remember much of the night. She didn't want to.
She just remembered her mother getting up and screaming and chasing her around the house, mascara dripping down her eyes like a haunted china doll. She remembered having a sudden idea strike that was extremely strange for a five year old to think of.
And she remembered snipping off the power with her father's pliers, and curling up under a bedside table as her mother blindingly swore and cursed and stumbled around like a drunk madwoman (which in honesty, she was), unable to see - and feel - and therefore, unable to hurt Kirara.
And it was then was Hazama realised that the darkness was her shield, and she was sade wherever there was no light.
And it was then was Hazama started sleeping with pliers under her pillow.
—
Whenever her mother started her screaming fit, mascara dripping down cheeks, Hazama would run to her bed and grab her pliers and snip the lights out. The darkness protected her. It draped over her, serving as an invisibility blanket. She grew to love the darkness, where she pretended she was the only person in the world, and she was safe from cracking, cracking and shattering like thin glass.
"Why do you love the darkness so much?" Kataoka had asked once, and Hazama hadn't responded.
She loved the darkness because it was her mother's weakness and the weakness of everyone else around her. But it wasn't her own weakness. In fact, she embraced it. She adored it.
The first fact of hers - the fact that she loved reading books - had stemmed from the same event.
When her mother had stood up, smashing down her wineglass and giving hysterical shrieks, the first thing that had come to Hazama's mind was an ugly, ugly word.
Witch.
She remembered her grandmother, before her passing, used to smile and hug Hazama when she saw her. And she'd say five words. Kirara Hazama. My little princess.
Undoubtedly, Hazama's name was the epitome of sparkles and unicorn glitter.
But Kirara was the princess. And her mother was the witch.
The princess and the witch.
The witch and the princess.
This was not going to end well and Kirara knew it.
Hazama started reading fairytales about how the princess defeated the wicked witch. But then the unrealisticness and cliche structure of the stories reached her, and Hazama started to read other books. Real books about real witches being burnt at the stake.
And the more she read about witches, the more she wanted the know. Soon, witches led to demons and demons led to spirits and spirits led to the occult.
And soon enough, Hazama had embraced the way authors used words, tiny symbols of ink and paper, to weave a tapestry of love and lies and ghosts and possessions.
She marvelled in the way one sentence could crumble the stoic mask she out on, as emotion seeped through her veins.
And so when Koro Sensei asked her what career she'd like to pursue, Hazama had said, "librarian."
—
When Hazama had been demoted to class 3-E, the first thing she dreaded, that lay like a stone in her stomach, was the fact that she'd have to tell her mother.
She'd arrived home shaking, weakly holding her books on her latest obsession (demon love stories), and walked in with a sense of fear and terror in her blood.
The first thing she'd noticed, was that the house was extremely quiet.
Usually, Kirara would enjoy the silence, but that particular day was different.
Wordlessly, the pale girl had sprinted to her room, heart pounding, as the clicking sounds on wedges on marble followed her with a sense of duty and anger. She had slammed her bedroom door shut and frantically felt under her pillow for the pliers, the key to her shield - darkness.
And her heart had almost stopped when she realised it was not there.
Her mother had thrown open the door; Kirara had screamed, the first time in her life. Nothing scared her as much as her own mother. The woman's face had been a dripping, black-and-white mess of too-pale foundation and wet eyeliner, and Hazama had no where to hide.
When her mother's fit had ended, Kirara had gotten an extraordinary and disturbing amount of bruises on her back, purple and blue splotches against pearly-white skin.
And when her mother was long gone, she had crawled onto her bed and buried her face in the pages of a book of dangerous curses, and hatred and sorrow and fear swirled inside her like a moving fog.
—
"It's a witch!"
That had been her classmates' first reaction to her when Hazama had walked in her first-grade classroom.
She hated that word. The word that associated her with her mother.
However, when their voices turned to taunting instead of surprise throughout the year, grinning at they circled her, calling her a witch, Hazama had had enough.
"I'll show you witch," she had said.
The faces she made could send kids running for the hills. Added with her love of darkness and obsession with the occult, Kirara was outcasted by the rest of her class.
She couldn't care less. And she still had her pliers if someone bullied her.
—
Kirara Hazama was currently fifteen, and a history project had rolled around.
She was paired up with Yoshida and they were to decide on a world-changing event in history to study and present to the class.
She was reclining in her seat, and the darkness, face hidden by a bound leather book. When the motorcycle enthusiast had sat down and asked what she'd wanted to do the project on, her reply had been quick.
"War," Hazama said.
Yoshida raised an eyebrow. "What, nothing got to do with witches?"
Even now, the word made her flinch. Hiding her discomfort with a terrifying glare, Hazama shook her head. "I'm interested in war. I feel…like I've had personal experience."
Yoshida raised an eyebrow again, and spun his pencil in his fingers. "How so?"
"Mentally." Her answer is blunt and much too straightforward. She hadn't even noticed it's come out of her mouth.
Naturally, Taisei was her friend, and friends cared about each other.
"What's up? Is it something at home?" he asked.
Hazama shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her tailbone hit the back of her chair, reminding herself of the bruise her mother had placed there this morning when she had failed to wake up in time.
"Of course not."
It was lie. She wove it perfectly.
Yoshida studied her face, and she shot him another glare. "Well, if you say so."
For the rest of the lesson, Kirara couldn't concentrate. She was too focused on thinking about her answer she'd given Taisei. Was she too obvious? Could he tell she wasn't telling him the truth?
She tilted her head forward so that her hair fell in front of her face, obscuring it even more from Yoshida's view. He mustn't know. No one ever could know. It was pure luck and logic that her mother hit her on the back, where no one saw the gaping bruises and deep cuts.
Hazama let out a sigh. The only thing she could do was hope that Yoshida would eventually clear off the subject. If anyone found out, everything would be ruined.
—
"Kirara Hazama!" screeched her mother when she walked in the door.
Hazama held back a wince, and readied herself for the pain.
The sharp sting on her cheek from her mother's blow sent her head veering to the side. She stumbled a little, knuckles turning white around the straps of her schoolbag as she quickly regained her balance.
"You know why I hit you, don't you?" Every word was seeping with fury.
Kirara shook her head slowly, looking down.
"You bloody idiot."
Another slap, on her other cheek. The pain seemed to weave uncomfortable patterns on her face like a spider's web.
"You fucking bloody idiot."
Hazama was taken by surprise as her mother's heel slammed into her stomach. She bit back a scream, stumbling backwards.
"What did I do to deserve a daughter like you?"
Another kick to the gut.
Hazama had the sudden great urge to throw up. It felt like her intestines were flopping around like a dead fish, twisting into unimagineable shapes.
"I'm…sorry. I'm so sorry," she fumbled, even though she had absolutely no idea what she had done wrong.
A pair of cold hands grabbed at her neck. Kirara winced as she was forced to stare at the crytic, melting-doll face pf her mother. "You should be, little bitch."
Hands still at her throat, Kirara's mother shoved her down to her knees. "Beg for my forgiveness!"
Hazama was still recovering from the strangling grasp around her neck. She wheezed for breath.
"DO IT!" the woman roared.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I beg for your forgiveness. Forgive a disgusting, miserable bitch like me," she intoned.
"MEAN IT!"
Kirara swallowed. "I do not deserve your hospitality. Please forgive me. I am a disgrace to humanity."
"Good. Now go to your room and don't show your hideous face."
Her hideous face.
Hazama knew she wasn't good-looking. She wasn't anything close to beauty. But no one had said it to her outright. The small insult bit at her heart.
She trudged to her room, gingerly brushing her hands over her stomach. Closing her door and lifting up her shirt, she saw a bruise already forming on her pale skin. Kirara leant down and fished out a shard of mirror from her bedside drawer. It was still stained with her blood from yesterday. She gazed at her reflection.
I really am ugly, she thought. No wonder my face can send people running for the hills.
The worst part was that she had no idea what had offended her mother. Anything could have, really - a drop of wine of the pristine white carpets or a misplaced fork in the spoon cabinet could have triggered the violence and bloodlust in the crazy, deranged woman.
Hazama fell down on her bed, head buried in her pillow as she stifled her sobs.
—
The library was silent, apart from the flipping of pages and the padded footsteps. Kirara was one of the only Class E students who dared to venture in the main school building for her own leisure.
She had covered her red, splotchy marks on her cheeks with white powdery foundation. She headed straight to the poetry section, ignoring the glares shot her way. For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to glare back. If she had, they'd would probably duck their heads in fear.
Because I'm so hideous.
She exhaled loudly. Hazama selected a thick collection of verse and sat down on a nearby chair to start her reading. It was after school, and she needed to avoid going home as much as possible.
"Well, well, well…" drawled an unnecessarily husky voice. "Who knew the Class E witch liked poetry? Or could even understand it?"
Her thick-lashed eyes darted up to see the face of Ren Sakakibara. Her answer was sharp and to-the-point.
"Don't call me a witch. And stop being a discriminatory assface."
He frowned (albeit handsomely) and took some poetry books of his own. He then sat his pompous ass down next to her. She moved immediately to the other chair.
"Oh come on, don't be so cold," he grinned, leaning in closer.
"Leave me alone."
"Not a lovely lady like you."
"I'm not lovely."
"Of course you are."
Hazama hated this. It reminded her of her mother and how sickly sweet the woman'd act before she hit her.
"Oh. Did I cross a line?" he asked, seeing her discomfort.
For once, her snarky tongue and brain found nothing to retort.
"Um," she said, feeling tears prickling at her eyes. She really needed the darkness now. Her shield. Hazama buried her face in the thick pages of the poetry book. With her free hand, she self-consciously reached inside her schoolbag and grabbed out her pliers.
Sakakibara almost freaked out. "Wh-what are you doing?"
Ugly.
Hideous.
Disgrace.
"I need the darkness," she whispered. Without adding more, she sprinted for her life to find the wires she'd need to cut to darken the building. Somehow, even with tears blurring her vision, she was able to dismantle the light switch and rip the whole thing off the wall. Then she reached inside the hole and snipped all of the wires.
There were gasps of surprise as the library fell in pitch black.
Kirara let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding.
Miserable.
Hopeless.
Bitch.
BEG FOR ME.
MEAN IT.
Unwillingly, she let out a strangled half-sob, half-moan, leaning against the wall. She kept herself silent and pressed against the white bricks as everyone filed out to find light.
When the library was empty, Kirara felt her way back to her school bag and her book of poetry, and she sat on the chair and embraced the fact that she couldn't see anything, and no one could see her.
She embraced the fact that she was invisible.
—
"Mum, please, NO—"
SMASH.
Kirara swallowed the rest of her sentence as the lamp met her face in a violent, painful clash.
"Don't you 'Mum' me, you useless little bitch! YOU FUCKING RUIN MY LIFE!"
Hazama wanted to scream, you ruin mine! You ruin every part of my life!
She brought her hand up to her mouth and felt the warm, hot syrupy feel of her blood.
"You're worthless! You should have never been born! Now get out of my sight!"
Dizzy from the hit, Hazama stumbled back.
"HURRY! HURRY! GET OUT! GET OUT!"
She ducked as her mother wildly swung the lamp around and ran to her room, locking the door and dumping her bag down by her bed.
She held her face in her hands and cried. Blood, sweat and tears stained her palms. How long did she have to endure this torture?
Her phone rang and she picked it up, trying to compose herself.
"Th-This is Kirara Hazama," she managed.
"Oh! Hi…um, it's Sakakibara."
Oh, hell, no.
"What do you want?" she snapped.
"You left your pliers in the library…was it you who, uh, made the power go out?" he said,
Hazama sighed. "Thank you. Can you hold on to my pliers? I'll get them tomorrow." She avoided his question at the end.
"Sure. Poetry section?"
"Whatever," she responded. "Bye. Don't you dare call me again."
She ended the call before he could reply.
—
"Oh, no…oh no, oh no, oh noooo…" Hazama groaned. "Shit. Shit. Shit."
Her temple, where the lamp had hit, was swollen, an ugly mixture of red and blue and purple and green. It was disgusting and impossible to disguise.
Kirara was officially dead.
Everyone would know.
Eventually, she decided to brush her hair so that the thick black tresses would fall in front of the wound so no one would notice.
She headed straight to the library after school, eager to get her pliers back. But she couldn't ignore the whispers sent her way as she walked in.
"Woah, check out that bruise!"
"Got in a fight?"
"…Heard she had a bad home life…"
Hazama froze at the last comment. How had they known? She turned towards the voice. The girl whose mouth it had come out of gave a look of disgust. "Ewww, the witch is looking at me!"
"Oh my goodness, she's beastly."
"I'm gonna get nightmares. Holy shit."
Unable to fight back, whack the girls with a book, something, anything…Kirara ran her hands through her hair, making sure her bruise was hidden, and briskly walked to the poetry section.
Ren was already waiting, holding a book and her pliers.
"Oh, there you are! Here are your pli—holy crap…"
"What?" she snapped, even though his wide eyes were clearly staring at her bruise. "Quit it."
He shook his head. "I'm so sorry…I didn't know…I won't tease you again."
Something angry flashed inside her. She leaned forward and thrust an accusing finger at his face. "So?" she scowled, voice a little too loud for a library. "It's not like she'll stop hitting me if you shut up!"
Immediately, she straightened up, backing away. "I…I mean…"
"'She'…" Ren repeated. "Wait, does your mother…abuse you?"
"Is it your business?" she borderline screeched. Some students looked in at the drama, but she flashed them the most horrifying glare she could, and they flittered off.
"Have you told anyone?" he asked.
"Do you think, genius?" she snapped. "Do you think I want them to know? You know, for an A Class student, you're really stupid!" The second the words left her mouth, Kirara bit her tongue, realising what she'd just said. Her insult had been too similar to the ones her mother had screamed at her.
"I…I didn't actually mean that," she added quietly. "May I have my pliers back?"
Wordlessly, he handed them over.
"You need to get help. This isn't right," Sakakibara muttered.
Hazama bowed her head. "No one would believe me. My mother's two different people when she's sober and drunk. She somehow convinces people that I just hurt myself in fights."
"…Oh."
"There's nothing you can do," she continued. "So don't try to help me."
Kirara sat down on a chair and began her reading, ignoring the stares boring in her back.
—
The next day, Hazama walked in to an empty library.
Confused but evidently pleased, she headed straight to the poetry section, as per usual, and selected a long book of horror poems.
However, as she opened up to the first page, she found a purple sticky note stuck to the paper.
There's always something you can do. Now you can read in peace. - R.S.
Oh.
She reminded herself to thank him later. She folded the purple note up and put it in her pocket as she began her daily reading.
—
It was when Hazama had finished her Civics homework that she finally remembered that she needed to acknowledge Sakakibara for his help. So she called him.
"Hello, this is Ren Sakakibara," came the ever-silky voice.
"Hello, this is the girl of your nightmares," she deadpanned.
A beat. "…Hazama."
"Yes," she paused, and a sudden wave of what she felt was shyness seemed to overtake her. "Um…I just wanted to thank you for…clearing out the library today."
"It's the least I can do," he responded, and his voice was also weirdly stiff and quiet. She was kind of uncomfortable how much he sounded like Isogai with his words. "Besides I thought I wasn't allowed to call you."
"You're not calling me. I'm calling you," she quipped, unaffected.
"…That's right."
"Well, bye now," Hazama said.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
This time, he was the once who hung up before she could reply something along the lines of, "but I don't want to see you tomorrow."
—
When she walked into the library the next day, it was empty again, except for a tall figure reading a collection of poems by Banjo Patterson.
"Hi," Kirara greeted bluntly.
Sakakibara's eyes moved from his book straight to the bruise, now a lumpish mess, on her head. "Hey."
She headed to the Gothic Horror section, deciding that she was done with poems for the week. She chose a book on a creepy china doll who abused its owner repeatedly until the owner had died.
Kirara had no idea why she'd chosen that book, given how close it had hit to home. However, she fought the urge to rip the novel up and turned calmly to the first page.
For the next twenty minutes, she immersed herself in a wonderfully scary world of hidden knives and creepy dolls.
However, one passage from the book threw her back to reality.
The young, innocent girl held back a scream as the doll, eyes dripping with mirth and evil, picked up a lamp and aimed for Aise's forehead.
"You're a useless, puny human being!" screamed the creature.
Hazama slammed the book shut, suddenly feeling ill. She had enjoyed most of the story until now. A bloody image of her mother's hysterical face wormed into her mind. Shaking her head, Kirara groaned and tried to think about something else.
Silently, she placed the book back on the shelf and took a deep breath, steadying herself.
"You're going already?" Sakakibara said, as she stood up and shouldered her bag, walking past him. For a split second, she thought he sounded disappointed for some reason.
"I'm sorry. I don't feel well," she answered flatly. It was true.
"Okay." His eyebrows were furrowed. "Well, if anything bad happens, can you tell me?"
Hazama forced a laugh. "You're not my guardian angel, Sakakibara."
"I know." Okay now she really didn't like his serious expression.
She knew what he was hinting at.
I'm not your guardian angel, but you sure as hell need one.
—
Kirara never got nightmares.
Never from horror fiction.
Never from horror movies.
Never from horror stories.
But the novel about the doll haunted her all night, and for once in her life she was relieved when the sun's first rays shone into her room.
—
It was Thursday. Hazama was gently pressing a cold towel over her busted lip (by busted, she meant BUSTED) when her phone rang. She immediately rejected the call, not even checking who it was.
However, it kept ringing persistently after that. Annoyed, she balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear as she rinsed out her bloody towel.
"What?" she snapped into the phone. She was snapping a whole lot lately.
"You haven't been to the library in a really long time."
She gave an exasperated sigh. "Sakakibara."
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
"No. Nothing's wrong," she said.
"Did she hurt you?" he continued.
She checked the newly formed bruise on the back of her shoulder. "No," she lied.
"You know you can call the police if your mother continues, you know," Sakakibara said.
Hazama sighed again and sat down at her desk, twirling her mechanical pencil in her hand. "Why are you doing this?" she questioned.
"Doing what? Being a decent person?" he replied.
"Helping me," she responded.
"So basically, being a decent person."
"You know what I mean." Her voice was even. "I'm from Class E, in case you haven't noticed."
This was Sakakibara's turn to sigh. "Just because you're discriminated by the rest of the school community doesn't mean you're not human. You have a right to talk, and live happily."
"Hmm. That's funny," she mused after a moment of silence.
"What?"
"You're harder to hate than I thought."
His laughter rang out in her ear. "You too." He paused. "Will you be at the library tomorrow?"
Hazama checked her reflection in the shard of mirror. "Sorry, no. Maybe next week."
"Okay. Bye, Hazama."
"Bye, Sakakibara."
—
Kirara trailed behind her classmates as they braved a severe amount of terrors on their trek to the school's assembly. Her assertive, common-sense mind had realised that if she put herself at the back of a tightly packed crowd of students, she could walk through the various dangerous sites (wasps, snakes, a…boulder?) with ease.
So as her classmates huffed and panted and fell onto their hands and knees, Hazama remained standing without a care in the world.
They marched in and assembled in two lines as the ridiculously boring ceremony began.
She really didn't like the way the other students from the other classes stared at her busted lip.
She especially didn't like the way she felt Sakakibara's gaze on it.
Hazama sucked in a deep breath, urging herself not to unleash hell on the world, and shot her most horrifying, nightmare-inducing glare at the onlookers. They gulped, screamed, and one girl even fainted.
So that was taken care of.
However, for the rest of the assembly she couldn't concentrate on anything with Sakakibara's stare boring into her. She considered shooting him a glare too, but didn't want to be pursued angrily by his fanclub once they had heard about it. So she decided against it.
As the other classes filed out, Class E being the last to go (as per usual, and to everyone's annoyance), she felt someone grab her shoulder with an unnecessary amount of force. She winced and turned around.
"Sakakibara. Greetings," she droned.
Needless to say, she was not surprised.
"Hazama! What's with the busted lip?" he half-whispered angrily. He had no need to be quiet, seeing that there was no one in the hall except them.
"Please stop squeezing my shoulder," she responded, voice monotonous.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Please. I have a bruise."
"Do you not trust me?"
She decided to forcefully remove his hand, seeing that he wasn't going to do it of his own accord anytime soon. "I trust you. I just thought you wouldn't care."
"Why would I not care? I've been pestering you about this forever!"
"Oh, believe me, I've noticed," Hazama deadpanned.
He frowned, as if trying to reduce his handsomeness. (If he was, it didn't work.)
"It's not like she miraculously stopped hitting me after your great act of bravado," Kirara replied. "If you had common sense, you'd figured out she hits me all the time."
"She does? I didn't know that."
"Well, now you do."
Sakakibara frowned even more and grabbed her shoulders, going completely against her wishes. "Hazama, this is serious! She can't keep hurting you like this!"
Feeling annoyed, she flared up too. "Well, it's not like a busted lip is the worst thing that can happen! When I told my mother that I got dropped down to Class E, I had to go through a six-hour operation to get all the glass shards out of my head!"
Honestly, Kirara had no idea how venomously her tone of voice could sound until now. He winced slightly at every word that she spat out.
"But…but…that's dangerous! That's one hundred different levels of insane!" he cried, going completely against her wishes and grabbing her shoulders roughly.
Her face morphed into an unreadable expression. You call that insane? she wanted to yell. Then why don't you do something about it instead of pestering me?
Unfortunately, her expression must have said everything (so much for being unreadable), because his frown had turned into one of the ugliest scowls she had ever seen - even though it still looked handsome considering his facial features.
"You're right. I need to do something about this."
"But I hever said anything," Hazama protested.
Sakakibara finally let go, straightening up. "Are you…scared?"
"I did have nightmares two days ago," she answered.
"For your own safety?" he prodded.
She blinked. "I…well, considering…um…" Eventually, she sighed in defeat. "Yes. Yes, I'm scared."
"Then we really need to do something about it! I can't just let you go home to an abusive psycho every day!"
"But…" A million logical comebacks raced through her head. "What about we wait until I've graduated?"
He stared at her like she was mentally ill. "What?"
Kirara thought about Koro-Sensei. She thought about Class E, and she thought about her mother.
"Please. Trust me. If she keeps abusing me until graduation I'll tell you," she continued. "And after this school year had ended, you're free to report this to the police."
"But—"
She started heading for the door. "I'm really late for class. Bye. We'll talk about this later. Just believe when I say this is important, alright? Until graduation."
—
…
He agreed.
…
—
…
She knew he would.
…
—
And then, miraculously, four months later, it's all done.
Her beloved teacher is dead. Class E is no more. They're stalked by the press.
Kirara Hazama has never shed more tears.
Sakakibara graciously bought her a bulk pack of pale foundation to cover her bruises. The last thing she wanted was the news reporters assuming Koro Sensei's been hitting her. He never had.
And the ceremony of graduation began, and when Kirara walked up the stage to recieve her scroll, she knew Sakakibara was staring at the well-hidden lump on her neck.
After the ceremony, she joined Terasaka and his 'gang' as per usual, but she couldn't help zoning out. She knew she was in for a beating tonight, for not telling her mother about Koro-Sensei.
Hazama heard Yada complain about how much her parents are going to over-react when they hear about Koro-Sensei because they're so over-protective.
She sighed under her breath. Better a pair of nosy, over-protective parents than what her mother is.
And as she boarded the bus and cast a last glance at the school, she spotted Sakakibara staring up at her.
Until graduation, you said, he mouthed.
I know, she mouthed back.
And then the doors shut, and they were off.
—
Kirara Hazama clutched her scroll as she stepped into her house.
The curtains were all drawn and the lights were all on. The house was eerily quiet.
Hazama knew at once that it wasn't a good setting.
She slowly walked into the living room, keeping her eyes peeled for her mother. She set her scroll down and did a quick three-sixty of the room. The woman was no-where in sight.
However, her ears perked up when soft, muffled footsteps started creeping in behind her. She internally thanked Karasuma's assassin training.
Then she whipped around and ducked as her mother, wielding a pair of ridiculously sharpened hedge-trimming shears, lunged at her with the gardening tool slash murder weapon.
"Mum! I can explain!" she yelled as she woman gave a frustrated grunt and aimed the shears at her head.
"EXPLAIN WHAT?" her mother screamed hysterically. "EXPLAIN TO ME, KIRARA HAZAMA! EXPLAIN HOW I RAISED SUCH A FILTHY, DISGUSTING BITCH LIKE YOU!"
She ducked again as the blades of the shears clicked together, narrowly missing her head.
"Mother, stop! You're delusional!" Kirara yelled.
The crazed woman lunged again. Hazama released a scream as the blades ripped through the skin on her forehead.
Not knowing what else to do, she chucked her bag over her shoulder, clapped her hands over the flowing wound, and ran for her life.
The warm, sticky blood was pooling into her palms. She ran to her room, slammed the door shut and locked it, and with some struggle, shoved all the furniture she could under the handle.
Random blurred dots were already starting to blur her vision. Kirara groaned and grabbed a towel, trying not to stare at her crimson hands.
"COME OUT, YOU BITCH! COME ON OUT!" her mother shieked, banging on the door.
Hazama stumbled around, wildly looking around for her phone as the unmistakeable sound of her mother smashing everything in the hallway - china jugs, vases, photo frames - resounded inside her bedroom.
Shakily, she dialed Sakakibara.
"Hazama? What's wrong?"
Her voice came out all hysterical and screechy, unlike the collected tone she usually spoke in. "You have to call the police! My mum's literally trying to kill me!"
"Oh my goodness!" he borderline yelled. "Are you alright?"
"I have a gaping wound on my forehead from a pair of sharpened gardening shears, but other than that I'm fine," she responded snarkily.
"I'll call the police now!"
"Wait!" she interrupted. "Before you do, tell them to turn their sirens off!"
"Why?"
"Just trust me!"
Still pressing the towel to her forehead, Kirara stuffed her phone in her pocket and her mind raced, thinking about what to do. Her mother would break down the door sooner or later, considering her strength and the fact that there were two enormous, heavy, door-breaking-worthy flamingo statues situated outside her door.
So, head still bleeding, Kirara thought long and hard.
Eventually, she fished the pliers out from under her pillow. The curtains in the house were all drawn, and it was uncharacteristically dark outside.
Without thinking twice, she did the most crazy thing she had ever done in her entire life.
Hazama threw open the door. Her mother, who was in the process of smashing the flamingo statue into the door, fell forwards, into the clutter of furniture Kirara had assembled. Kirara then grabbed said statue off her mother and dropped it over the woman's spine.
"Why, you—"
Now that her mother's attacks would be delayed, Hazama ran to the wires at the end of the corridor, ripping a hole in the wall with the first thing she could find to reach them. Then she snipped all of them off, and the house descended into darkness.
In the pitch black, she heard her mother standing up again with some groans. "Oh, I'm gonna get that bitch…" her voice came, echoing down the corridor.
Hazama gulped. Now the hard part.
Rush past her mother to the front door.
In pitch black.
With no weapons except for a pair of pliers.
She scrambled on top of the antique cabinet. It lined the whole corridor wall, so hopefully if she scuttled through, she could avoid her mother.
She secured the towel to her foreheard and stooped down, scuttling her trademark way - like a spider.
She heard her mother crashing through the doors, and quietened down, scrambling over the cabinet silently on her hands and feet. She kept the pliers secured in her mouth.
Heart beating frantically, Hazama continued her crazy plan.
As she kept scuttling, she heard her mother stomping into the other rooms, trying to find either Kirara or a torch. She slowed down, freezing as she listened carefully.
A beam of torchlight flashed into the room.
Oh.
Oh, shit.
Hazama's plan fell to pieces. Wordlessly, she hopped down from the cabinet and sprinted to the front door, hearing her mother's footsteps quicken behind her.
This is like a horror movie scene, she thought.
She quickened her pace and shoved the door open, and light blinded her eyes. Everything blurred before her. She ran a bit more, and then fell to her knees in a dramatic fashion on the grass, panting like an idiot.
"Hazama! Are you okay?" Sakakibara's voice called, and suddenly she realised that the police were there, as her vision cleared.
Seconds later, her mother burst through the front door, screaming bloody murder.
"KIRARA HAZAMA, I SWEAR I'LL MINCE YOUR HEAD—"
Kirara didn't hear the rest of it. Her mother was clapped in handcuffs, trying desperately to explain the situation to the policemen.
"This is a misunderstanding! My daughter was…was being disobedient! I didn't—"
Hazama watched as her mother was shoved in the police car as they drove off. She couldn't help giving a weak, relieved laugh.
"Huh…I did it," she said.
"Yeah. You did."
"If this were a cliche film, this would be the part when I faint dramatically in your arms," Hazama quipped.
Sakakibara laughed and helped her up. "Yeah, it would." He paused and frowned at the wound. "Good thing I called an ambulance. We really need to get you to the hospital."
"Mm-hm."
And the next few hours was filled with bandages and white fabric of sheets and eventually, long-awaited sleep.
—
A month later, Kirara Hazama was shoved into a black Christian Dior dress and uncomfortable heels.
"I really don't like how this dress makes my shoulders bare," she informed Sakakibara, even though that wasn't the real problem.
The real problem was why she was wearing this dress.
To attend a court case.
About her mother.
She had absolutely no idea whether she and Sakakibara were allowed to attend or not, considering they were both only fifteen. However, Sakakibara convinced her it would be fine ("besides, I have connections," he had added).
It was safe to say that Hazama did not remember a single bit of the event. The judge's voice turned into mush inside her head. She focused on staring at her mother's calm, collected face that clearly read 'me? A psycho? No way'. This made her even more nervous. Who would believe such a sensible woman had such ridiculous, dangerous, psychotic tendecies?
Somewhere within the however-long-it-went hours, she remembered Sakakibara placing his hand over her's. She also remembered biting on her handkerchief nervously for an unnaturally long time.
And some time after the judge boomed "guilty!", everyone started to file out, and it was over.
Hazama continued sitting there, eyes still unblinking.
"Hazama. Hazama."
He snapped his fingers in front of her face.
"Kirara!"
Immediately, she clicked back into reality. He had never, ever called her by her first name before.
"It's over," he reminded gently.
"I know," she answered lamely.
Then she burst into tears, much to her own embarrassment.
—
One week after that, after some meetings with a bunch of policemen and officials and whatnot, Kirara Hazama's life had came to a sharp turn.
She was to go live with her father.
On the other side of Japan.
At the Kunungigaoka airport, holding nothing but a backpack, a goldfish bowl and Koro-Sensei's book of advice, she stood in front of the building, feeling nervous. One step inside and she'd be teleported to a new life.
"Hazama!" cried a feminine voice behind her.
Kirara turned to see the friends she'd invited to bid her farewell - a teary Kurahashi, with Terasaka, Muramatsu, Yoshida, and Itona.
"Hello," she greeted.
They stood there for a long time, until Itona spoke up.
"Hazama," he said very seriously. "You're the only smart person in Terasaka's group. I think I'll miss your company a lot." He bowed.
"Oh." She was taken aback. "Thank you. I got you a present."
She rummaged in her bag and fished out a weird, flattish silicone object to give to Itona.
"What the hell is this?" he asked, staring at the thing.
"It's a cover to slip over your pornography magazines so it looks like you're reading an educational magazine," Kirara answered, as if it was obvious.
"Oh. Thank you," Itona said, and he sounded grateful.
Then she handed out her other gifts to the others. For Yoshida, a hammer ("maybe it'll knock some sense into you"); a loofah for Muramatsu ("scrub the stupidity out of that brain"); and a rock for Terasaka ("congratulations, you've got a new twin brother"), who was extremely displeased with it.
"We got you something too!" said Kurahashi, cheerfully handing Kirara a book. "We all donated some money to buy it for you."
She gazed at the black cover. 30 Most Thrilling Horror Stories and Poems Ever Written.
"Kurahashi, here's your gift," she added, handing the nature-loving girl the fishbowl.
Kurahashi gasped. "H-Hazama!" Her eyes pooled with tears. "You're giving me your tarantula?"
Muramatsu immediately backed away.
"Someone has to look after Shini," Hazama answered. "You're the best candidate I know of."
"Awww…" Kurahashi cooed. "Thank you so much, Hazama! She's beautiful!"
More farewells were said and best wishes were exchanged. Then, as the troop departed, Hazama waited for one other person that she had invited.
"Kirara Hazama," he grinned.
"Ren Sakakibara," she answered, smiling as well, for no apparent reason. "I have something for you."
He raised an eyebrow as she pulled out something from her bag, before blinking rapidly. "Y-You're giving me your pliers?"
She shrugged, feeling something strange stain her cheeks. "I don't need them anymore. Thanks to you."
"Oh," he replied, taking them graciously.
Kirara studied him for a while. "You know, I think I'm going to miss you."
"Don't worry, the feeling is mutual," he answered.
Sakakibara opened his mouth to say something else, but he seemed to decide against it.
"Have a safe flight…Kirara," he said, bowing.
"Thank you, Ren," she responded, bowing also. "Goodbye."
"Goodbye."
And an hour later, when she stepped out to board her plane, wind battering her unruly curls back and forth, Hazama was torn between a sense of freedom and a sense of heartbreak.
—
…
—
Seven years later, when she's grown up to a successful, gentle, even beautiful young woman, Hazama finds herself at the Kunungigaoka airport again.
But this time, she's not departing, but she's just arrived.
She's changed both physically and internally, and when she steps into the sun she decides she doesn't mind the light.
The first place she heads isn't Muramatsu's ramen shop. Or Yoshida's Motors. Or even to Kurahashi's to check on Shini.
She goes straight to the local bookstore and looks for poetry by Banjo Patterson.
The familiarity of the town overwhelms her at first, and she remembers the places where she's mucked around, thrown up when she was ill, had walked to school, bought her pet.
The bookstore is empty, which she finds strange considering how popular it had been seven years ago.
Seven years. Has it really been that long?
She finds the poetry section immediately and she's glad that there are plenty of volumes. She stoops down to look for Banjo Patterson.
Bingo.
Reaching a hand out, she grabs the book.
Actually, she doesn't.
Someone else reaches it first.
She looks up. Her coffee-coloured eyes narrow and his widen.
"Kirara Hazama," he says.
She stands up. He's still a good twenty centimentres taller than her.
"Ren Sakakibara."
For a second, he looks like he was torn between doing something. She waits.
Kirara Hazama was not an affectionate person.
Not affectionate at all.
And yet, for some reason, she doesn't really mind the sudden hug he pulls her into.