I am not a child now.
I can take care of myself.
I mustn't let them down now-
Mustn't let them see me cry.
I'm fine.
I'm fine.
I'm too tired to listen.I'm too old to believe
All these childish stories.
There is no such thing as faith,
And trust,
And pixie dust.
Cry - Prelude
It is general fan consensus on ff.net that Kazuma and Shizuru Kuwabara have not had the easiest of lives. Now think, if things had been bad for Kazuma, what must they have been like for Shizuru? This work is my endeavor to answer that question. Enjoy, and please review.
Shizuru Kuwabara had not had what one would call a happy life. Every psychologist on the planet would have considered her childhood, which she never felt she needed to speak to anyone about, traumatic and damaging, both mentally and physically. She worked from noon to 9:00 PM six days a week, was hopelessly addicted to cigarettes, and received only one selfless compassionate hug a year (this hug was always given by her younger brother on the anniversary of their mother's death). The pleasures she derived in life were simple: nicotine, a good matinee at the theatre every other week, and the knowledge that she had only just turned 23 and had managed to raise a relatively well-adjusted child.
Shizuru had learned long ago that everything was easier to deal with if one was not emotionally related to the situation in any way. When she was eleven (the first time her father had hit her) she began to clamp down on every feeling she possessed. She would cry only three times before she turned 23: when her mother died, when her father had first hit Kazuma, and when she had realized she was in love with a man she couldn't possibly carry a relationship with.
It is needless to say that Shizuru was due for some serious volcanic movement in the emotional department. Simple, quiet tears would not satisfy this need. No, Shizuru needed to sob, scream, and wail until all the pain, anger and depression had gone from her body. Deep down, she knew this. Deep down, there was a little girl who wanted nothing more than to be held and rocked while she cried. Shizuru didn't like this little girl, but she could do no more about it than she could about her father.
Her father was perhaps the one reason she hated this little girl the most, because this little girl was afraid of the man named Kazuo. She froze in terror at the mere mention of his name, and then curled up in the back corner of Shizuru's mind, wailing and screaming and trembling in absolute dread and panic. This little girl also believed that her father could change, that her father still loved her enough to see the error of his ways. She still wanted her daddy to tuck her in and kiss her goodnight, and turn on the nightlight for Kazuma, 'cause he was such a baby sometimes…
But those hopes were gone. They had been dashed to pieces long ago, and nothing could make Shizuru believe that her father could ever be a good man… Her father, whom she never wanted to see again for as long as she lived…the very last person she expected to show up at their apartment on Kazuma's seventeenth birthday.