A/N: This is a rewrite of the first piece of fanfiction I ever wrote. I wrote it because, when I was going through my Loveless phase, I'd read a lot of bad fics where Aoyagi Misaki was immediately made into a lunatic; the typical abusive mother and in some cases, even a rapist. Needless to say, this is a story told from her point of view and I really hope that people will take a kinder look at her and try to see things from her point of view. I hope you enjoy it.

And maybe it's the screen on this computer, but I'm sorry that it seems almost amateurish with its short paragraphs. I tried my best to fill the new version with more content, but it didn't seem to work, did it? I didn't want to babble too much and I realise that's what I'm doing now, so I'll just leave you to your reading. I would really like to hear what you think of this and whether there was anything I could have improved on. Thanks for checking it out, at any rate.

Disclaimer: The characters of Loveless don't belong to me. If they did, I would be quite worried with myself...

The doors of the ward opened. Her ears rang with the silence of the hospital and she looked up expectedly as she heard the door swing slowly open. She had been able to hear the boy's footsteps from ages away as he tramped and shuffled down the long, bare, white hallways. A boy with short black hair that hung around his ears poked his head around the corner of the door shyly.

She smiled warmly at him and beckoned gently to him. He walked hesitantly, but there was a sort of eagerness in his face; one that would disappear for the next few months as her attention was taken up by the new baby. "Look," she said softly, one hand around the shoulders of her older son. "This is your brother, Seimei. Isn't he cute? Our little Ritsuka…"

People say I'm mad.

What do they know? They don't know the pain of losing both of their sons. They don't know what I have to deal with. They always tell me that it would be awful if they had to deal with what I have to go through. They're all liars. All of them. It's never happened to them. It probably never will.

I remember that awful night—the night I lost my beloved Seimei. I remember getting the phone call, saying that there had been a fire in one of the classrooms. I remember dropping the phone as they told me my son was dead. I remember Ritsuka—the real Ritsuka's anxious face as I tried to reassure him that everything was alright; was going to be alright.

That night, my husband was home late again. He never gave much time to his children. Sometimes I wonder if he really cares. He was always too busy with his office work. He'd call nearly every night we had something planned and told me, without a trace of regret, that something had come up at the office and he wasn't able to make it home. I'm not complaining. I was used to it already and that was the sad thing. But with my children—with my children, I felt secure. I was sure they couldn't live without me and I, them. It was a nice arrangement. We counted on each other to keep the other from going completely insane.

Ritsuka used to be such an adorable child. He laughed and played with all the other children. I remember when he brought me home a present of a worm. He had looked so dismal when I told him to take it back outside. I remember when he smiled so brightly when I told him that it would be saving the thing. His teachers always complained to me that my Ritsuka's grades were atrocious. I would nod and Ritsuka would sit still, sullen. It didn't matter. Not to me. Not now. I now wish that I hadn't reprimanded him so harshly. I wish that I had been able to tell him how much I loved him, how much he meant to me before That Person took over his body and soul. I wish so much that my heart aches and I can't sleep. What I would give just to get my son back…

I remember when he used to spend the time with me. His brother was in high school then and Ritsuka rarely ever saw him during the day. He was comforted by my presence. I could tell and that always made me feel so much better. He confided in me, trusted me. He loved me. I, in turn, knew him inside out. I knew almost everything about him: what clothes he liked best, his favourite foods, what scared him and what made him feel better. Now his body has been taken over by That Person. I don't know what else to call that thing. It's a completely different Ritsuka from the one I used to know. He seems so cold now. He rarely ever talks to me and his grades have somehow, miraculously maybe, shot up to the top. I know I shouldn't. I can't help it. Whenever I see him—see the person who's taken over him—I can't stop the black rage from building up inside me. It's not rage for Ritsuka. It's the rage for the demon that now resides in him. I cry every night thinking of what That Person is making me do to my son and sometimes, I imagine that he is laughing at my misery.

A part of me thinks that I should just give up on him, treat him like he's just changed. Another part of me refuses to let him go. That part of me tells me that there's no way that a change can be so radical. He is my son and I love him. I miss him so much…

These thoughts are making me depressed. I put my head down on the table and hide my face and my tears from the unfeeling, lying world. I try not to sob too loudly, just in case the neighbours hear and decide to come in and ask if I'm alright.

I lift my head and listen. I hear the door open. I push the chair aside roughly and stand up, eager and hoping.

"I'm home," Ritsuka mumbles, barely audible. It's almost as though he doesn't want me to hear. I push my thoughts aside and dry my tears. My face contradicts my feelings. I rush out to him, a wide smile planted on my face.

"Ritsuka! Welcome home!" I take him into my arms and embrace him. He is now nearly as tall as I am. "How was your session? Are you back? For good?"

There is a long pause and I fear the worst. The silence speaks volumes and I already know the answer. But still, I want to hear it from him. I almost want him to lie to me.

"No," he says slowly. His face is miserable. "I'm sorry."

A memory comes to me. I remember Ritsuka looked like that when I reproached him for his marks. A flood of feelings rushes over me. Sadness, longing, nostalgia, anger… I try to calm myself, but I can't. I feel the warm tears run down my cheeks in steady waterfalls. I clutch at his shirt and wail. He seems almost indifferent, except for this feeling that he is ashamed of me. Rage fills me, and it is a boiling hot rage that I can't control.

I push him away roughly. "Get away from me!" I can hear myself shrieking at him. "You're not my Ritsuka! There's no way you can be! My Ritsuka would never get such good grades! My Ritsuka loves me! He would never act like this towards me!"

I raise my hand to slap him. He tries to dodge, but his legs move like lead and he can't. I see him flinch at the pain as my hand connects with his face and it breaks my heart. I am raising a hand to my child. I can see myself hitting him again and again, almost as if I'm not me anymore. Sobs rack my body. I love him so much, but I can't help but hate the person inside of him.

I somehow manage to stop myself. I take this moment and run back into the kitchen. I don't want to strike my son for something that he has not done. I put my head back on the table and cry again, loudly this time. I don't care if the neighbours hear me. I think of Ritsuka and I get the now familiar feeling of longing. I miss him so much…

I take a deep breath and try to calm down. I choke on the sob that wants to come out and I put my face in my hands and weep. People say that I'm mad, but don't they understand that all I want is to get my son back?

Exigo