You Never Loved Me
A/n: it takes place before the "Initial D" story, a year prior to it. Takumi of course may seem different from what he is in the anime, more emotional
the pronoun 'he', 'him' implies Fujiwara Bunta
while Takumi's feelings are brightly shown, the reason for his mother's leaving remains concealed, let it be a secret
Warnings: language
And read and review, please
You never loved me, right… Mom?
No-no, not that I've suddenly become romantic or nostalgic about the past, it's just… it's just I want to understand why. I still fail to see what you meant by going away, leaving us on our own wasn't all surprising but I guess I've not yet caught your message. Please, don't think I'm suffering, that would be ridiculous, I've never wanted a mom like you. Was there at least a bit of sympathy for me in your heart? If no, what was the feeling you had?
Sorry… It must be painful to hear such words from your son but it can't be helped. Suppose, I'll hardly ever feel sad recalling you. I'm not evil, wicked or harsh nor am I ill-bred or badly-educated, feelings are feelings, what is there in one's heart cannot be extricated, if I loathe someone I am to decide when hatred should come to an end, it's up to me to give birth to emotions and kill them afterwards, it's my heart, my inner world!
That world you never cared about, did you? I want to give a name to you, yet 'Mom' would sound false, untrue because I am not sure you are my real mother. Humph, pathetic, I know. Always considering me a kind of inborn freak, have you ever stirred a finger to look inside me, I used to be your son, after all. Forever were my emotions destined to be stuffed in the farthest corner of my soul, forever was I destined to be laughed at, be mortified while you even didn't notice how humiliated I've been, how rudely offended by you, forever were my uncried tears an object of chuckling while I didn't find it funny, moreover, scarcely have I understood the reason for such regular insults, as if I were a child for verbal attacks. I'd rather be physically beaten, bruises and scratches are easy injuries compared to moral wounds. You'd never know nor would I ever want to explain it. Much water has flown under the bridges, you see. Huh.
Remember, when I came home from school you never asked how was my day or any other standard question children are bugged with, while others' parents irritated with such queries you didn't, while others' moms cooked dinners and placed dishes with love in hearts and smiles on lips have I ever seen the same? Instead, an almost-thrown-to-the-table plate and carelessly-put cup with whatever was inside it. I've been thinking… it's strange, even though you've been an excellent cook and the food tasted perfect, the way you served it proved disgusting, you seemed to charge in with evil instead of pouring positive energy, as if I was a ratty prisoner who's fed with slops.
At the same time the way you treated him was totally different: you waited for him, you sat with him at the table and you happily chatted discussing insignificancies, you seemed curious asking how he had spent the day and he asked you the same while I at times would sit on the stairs leaning against the wall eavesdropping these fluffy conversations and swallow tears for I felt abandoned and very lonely. Your merry laughter vs my hurt self, your lengthy dinners together vs my quick meals. Not a pleasant thing to hear, right? But you never cared, neither would I then.
My mate – I wonder if you remember his name since you seemed to be never interested in anyone I dealt with – when he happened to talk to you, remarked how nice and friendly-looking you appeared but not until I revealed your true attitude to me, since then he never dared to step across our threshold, the house being a fortress and him being an intruder who feared people inhabiting the stone-built stronghold. If you're pry, he's still afraid to enter our place, not to mention my room. It's unbelievable what a harm-surrounding aura you've managed to create there, the house, should you ask me, have been a simple building with walls and doors and windows, not more, not the hearth, not a comfortable home with relatives who are glad to see you, who greet and smile, it's been a place to come and have rest, like a hotel, not like real home should be. Now that you've been gone it hasn't changed a tad, memories of you are too fresh but it's good you are not there.
Your negligence. Indifference that ruined my pride and confidence I fail to recall a time when you said you were proud of me or that you loved me, that you needed me. Any mother would tell her child such things, any, not you. Wasn't I your son? Wasn't I? Guess you never really gave a shit, Mom. The way you entered my room and, whatever I told you or tried to attract your attention to, you ignored, clearly blanked me. It made me sick, it caused me to feel inferior, a kind of useless stuff, garbage. Any new hobby I took fancy to, any great idea I felt like sharing with you was stamped on and scratched out and spat on and severely criticized – everything I did seemed wrong, things I was keen on appearing ludicrous to you making you sneer, making me be on the verge of tears, lump in my throat I struggled to get rid of. Do you know what it's like? Have you at least a tiniest notion of how it hurt me? Each productive thought, every new beginning was disapproved, torn apart, trampled by you while I've always surmised parents should support what their children were doing, encourage interests, reveal vivid curiosity. As a result, me becoming that secluded, antisocial, shy. And then you would often question why I appeared so closed and modest. Why, you ask? You must have been blind to see it was because of your constant prostrating comments and never-endinghumiliation that shut my mouth so that I proved unable to utter a word. It's still aching there, in the region of my heart, when I come to think of it.
You never said 'I'm sorry'. Never. Too lofty and arrogant and uppish, on the brink of self-obsession. Seeming good at barking and scalding – unlike being traditionally gentle and delicate in communication – you failed to develop one important quality, you couldn't admit your blame. Oh, I'm inwardly giggling, I've been correct assuming your megalomania would devour you, you've been murdered mercilessly by the crown on your own head. How will you react if I tell you that while you kept yelling at me razing me to the ground and doing the darnedest, my ears were plucked as I was brooding on how long it would take you to go mad? It's weird how he'd managed to find such a loudmouthed and uncontrollable woman. My requests to be quieter only added oil in the fire thus forcing you to shout louder. Stresses were your blame, not mine, don't you agree?
When I was little I would lock up in my room upstairs and cry for nights on end praying, asking God to send an angel to protect me from permanent disaster in your face. Who would have thought a little boy was so vulnerable, who would have thought he craved for a defender to shield him from his own mother, mother who turned a tyrant. As I grew I was doing my best to protect myself, I happened to shout back if you raised your voice, I needed to show I was no refuse but a person, all I asked for was good attitude, respect, more-or-less average relationship. However you couldn't satisfy this humble wish, you couldn't change. How blessed I am to be free from shackles of anger at present.
I began to openly rebel when your behavior got to the point of inadmissible, your newly acquired and pretty rank habit of suspecting me of stealing products from the fridge, it seemed nonsensical yet there was no proof to justify myself. Once claiming me guilty of prigging a yoghurt you called me a thief. Labeling your own son! Then you said you'd pin me down until I confess I was the bop and I… I was lost for words but fighting back would have been foolish of me so, having chosen to stand still, I stood still listening to your violent language. One day later you discovered that 'stolen' box of yoghurt on the lower shelf in the refrigerator. But you never apologized. Funny. Ridiculous. If such cases were few they would mean nothing really, however it's become your number one tradition to blame me in near all misfortunes occurring in our family, I started thinking myself a scapegoat, a person bringing catastrophes, a black sheep. Yet I bit up my lip and carried on trying not to focus on these kinks of yours.
And another your habit of creeping upon me, it practically turned into a mania as you came into my room and tidied it up while I wasn't at home, you replaced items, touched, rummaged in my clothes as if wanting to upset me, to penetrate my fragile bubble, it got me but I clutched my teeth every time you trimmed my personal belongings. One day such conduct infuriated me: I was searching through my things and found them all rearranged. You knew the stuff was personal yet, as if wanting to have an oar in every man's boat, you nuzzled into my drawers. How damn vile of you! Considering it unbearable, I stopped controlling my temper which you didn't quite like, did you? Permanent arguments, incessant quarrels, nightly sobbing and daily grousing – this I had to take from you, still, for me it felt better than keeping silent as I couldn't hold back all that has stuck up in my chest, it had to break free. Sometimes I thought a masochist inside me had awakened and a beast with furious nature, my self-consciousness was forgotten, I acted freely and it was not childish showing-off, it was a call to be heard, my patience was over when I set you against me, the two of you united to defeat me, it was late, though. Realizing that peaceful relationship would end as soon as I rebelled I made up my mind to take that step thus I stopped being a toy, a sort of artificial boy, a plastic doll, I wanted love which you apparently lacked. A slave, a servant – no more, a human being only! I've chosen a bed of thorns, obstacles on my way but ever since I've no regret.
I'm not trying to erase you from my heart, you've never been there, to be frank. Sorry, it must be painful but the only thing left as reminiscences of you is a pile of photos depicting you and me in my childhood, other shots were place-consuming and useless with put-on smiles which I dislike the most.
Mom, listen, I don't blame you, maybe we just didn't suit each other. Silly, it sounds stupid, how can a mother and a child not suit one another? None the less, strange things do happen. When you left I felt relief; as a rule one would return home and, oblivious that the dear one was not there anymore, call him, weep for him, mull it over and torture his brain raking the past, recalling former times. Me – no, neither crying nor calling I wasn't waiting for you, it felt really-really good.
What if I tell you how I despised weekends and enjoyed loneliness? I knew how hopelessly spoilt my days off would be, the two of you would be downstairs talking all day long and I had to sit in my room alone, on occasions it looked like you were jibing at me, you didn't even call me to dine together. Was I a leper or deserving no food or what? When I happened to be in the living-room you would ask him, 'Honey, coffee?' and he would 'uh-huh' in reply. What about asking me? I was a ghost, a non-existent one, wasn't I? How goddammit unbearable it felt to smell coffee aroma and dangling of spoons and I envied you… It caused me to hate you at these moments as you were doing it on purpose to show how high you were and how low I was, it ate my innards, that black envy. On those rare nights you went out I stayed at home in pleasant loneliness, I breathed calmly aware the house was at my disposal, roaming here and there and having a snack in peace for I was often hungry, no one blamed me, no shrill voice rebuked, no reproach thrown in my face. You may not believe me but for more than one time I carried food to my room and kept it there till night to have a late bite, yes I felt uncomfortable eating in your presence. You can sniff and laugh at me now. Since that time I adore being alone at home when he leaves for a 'meeting' or whatever he calls a night in a pub. I'm not interested in where he goes, what he does and when he's gonna be back, we seem to be leading different lives, not that normal father-and-son support.
Not much has changed since the event. I'm still the same, only seventeen, he is the same too, only has become a chain-smoker. Ah yes, he runs a tofu-shop now, he opened it soon after you left. Our relationship, it hasn't altered a bit, the same 'do-what-you-want-but-study-well-and-don't-be-a-criminal' setting from him and 'good-morning-good-night-I'm-fine' from me, we don't speak much as you can see.
It's hard for anyone to not get proper love, motherly caress and fatherly attention but if it's what Destiny has in store for me, I'm fine. In the end after all suffering one receives blessedness so my happiness may be waiting for me.
I don't mean to say thank you or forgive me, just hope you're alright. I don't think you need more from me. All in all, I guess you never truly loved me, Mom.