In my cage, my mental cage, I'm shy, quiet, and soft-spoken. Out of it, I'm rude, loud, and spiteful. My mother, klutz she is, couldn't handle me when I was 4. So I was sent to Akito to be broken, to retain some qualities he has, such as telling people, stupid people the Truth. The Truth is the hidden meaning that moronic, very stupid people go out of their way to avoid. For instance, Ayame knows that his brother dislikes him, so why bother trying to press him? I asked that question once to Akito, and he laughed. He told me that those people that deny the Truth are stupid morons, and hate the Truth. Another quality I possess is to feel the pain of others. Not like Tohru, whose pain is a thing she carries, but actual pain, whether physical or mental. This I found out a month ago.
A month later
I knocked on the cedar door (Funny what shows up in the most improper of times) lightly, awaiting his reply. "Enter Hiro," Akito's voice rang a slight hint of smugness in it. My hand wrapped around the brass doorknob (like I said, the mind seems to like throwing random thoughts at you, no matter how improper of times) slowly opening the door. A faint creak, soft breathing, and my footsteps are all I heard. Closing the door, I waited until my eyes fixed themselves to a catlike way of seeing the dark ahead. Only then did I move, placing a foot carefully on the sakura wood (now my mind likes to make me notice this? I should have noticed earlier!) I walked slowly, my feet inaudible to any living being, my breath quieter than death, for I knew what was going on. I was here to be tortured. I padded across the room, my heart slowly hammering in time to my feet padding towards him, the whip in his hand. The rest of the Sohmas were there, silently awaiting my fate. Akito's head jerked his eyes full of intense enjoyment as he directed me to a foot in front of him. "Turn Hiro," Akito commanded me, his voice a dangerous purr. I turned mutely, my heart quietly drumming a rhythm. As his fingers trailed upwards, my shirt went with it, exposing my chest to them. I heard a collective gasp as the silver scars glinted palely in the candlelight. Akito raised the whip to strike my exposed back. I heard the whip whistle, felt it strike my back, a soft feeling for me now. Blood trickled down, inviting and warm against my cold skin. He struck again, this time a more enjoyable pleasure, the warm, dark liquid soothing me, a small calm in this horrible moment, to them. I had learned to enjoy my pain, to crave this feeling of blood against my back. I loved it. After a while, he stopped, reminding me of who I am, his toy, his object of play, of pain. Hatori walked to me, a footstep at a time, occasionally stopping. I slowly sat on my knees, waiting for him to walk to my side. Pulling out antiseptic and rags, he slowly cleaned the cuts, the sting of antiseptic like a soft hand on my shoulder. Then, after cleaning the wounds on my back, Hatori wiped the blood off, the crimson liquid dripping onto the floor. I closed my eyes lazily, enjoying the look of surprise I received from Hatori. "Hiro?" the doctor asked, the emotion melting away. He thought I passed out from lack of blood, like the average human. "Yes Hatori?" I replied, opening my eyes to look at him. I laughed at the jump from I received before he stood up, motioning for me to follow.
