DISCLAIMER:

Miyako: Why did you make me cry?

Me: O.O ... I didn't say you cried.

Miyako: You said that I was about to cry when I hunched my shoulders.

Me: I'm gonna go now... (walks quickly away)

Miyako: (follows me) Come back here.

Ryuga: Women.

Hikaru and Hana: Excuse me?

Ryuga: ... he-he... (runs away)

Hana: (runs after him waving her frying pan in the air) That's right, mister, you better run!

Hikaru: T_T' Oh well, since everyone's too busy playing tag, I'll just say the disclaimer now. DragonFang2011 does not own Beyblade: Metal Fight.

Therapy?

"Mom?" I knocked on the door of her hotel room.

She opened the door. "Hey, Lucky. What's up?"

I looked at my feet. "I need to talk to you about something.

She pulled the door wider. "Get in."

I stepped into the messy room and made myself comfortable on one of the beds.

My mother closed the door. "Off the bed; that's Miyako's."

I sighed in irritation and jumped over to the next bed, sitting down cross-legged. "Let me guess: she doesn't like people touching her stuff."

"Exactly," Mom said, cracking a smile. She sat down next to me. "What's on your mind?"

I twirled my headpiece in my hands. She snatched it away. "Come on. Give."

"This is probably an awkward question, but," I racked my mind for something to say. "Do you still dream about Dad?"

My mother stiffened, tapping the handle of her frying pan with her index finger, like what Miyako does with her sword. At least now I figured out where she inherited that habit from.

And like what happened earlier that day, the room was submerged in an eerie silence.

"Of course I do," she finally replied. "From time to time. But sometimes," She exhaled through her nose. "I wish that I could just... forget him. I did everything to get rid of the pain. Starved myself, stayed in bed for days, drugs." She stared off into space, and when she decided to speak again, she sounded like she was in a dream. "Do you remember what happened the day after your father died?"

I nodded mutely. Oh, I remembered, alright. She had tried to slit her wrist with a knife. Luckily for her, Miyako got there and literally kicked it out of her hand. It had embedded itself into the roof. Mom had to go through a few weeks of therapy, so Miyako, Ryuto, and I were alone for some time.

It was about three years before Ryuto died.

I wondered if she still dreamed about him, too.

"Well," she continued. "I was selfish at the time. I was so busy crying over your father's death that I had completely forgotten to take care of my family. You, Miyako, and... Ryuto." Her voice choked up.

I was tempted to tell her to stop crying before I reported her to Ryo.

"I know you blame yourself for your father's death, and Ryuto's, but it's not your fault, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. I hated being called that. I'm not sweet, and heck, most people think that I don't have a heart.

"That's the same thing I told Miyako this morning," I muttered. "... without the 'sweetheart' part."

"That doesn't stop her from beating herself up about it," my mother said. "I'm surprised you're not afraid of fire, Ryuga, after what happened. I can't even bring myself to cook anymore, remember?"

"I'm used to it," I said. "I don't like it when people talk about him."

"Okay. I'll stop." She wiped her eyes. "But it hurts so much. I miss them both terribly."

Yeah, and I don't? I wanted to yell at her.

How do I comfort her? I sat still, allowing her to cry on my shoulder. Actually, I was trying not to cry myself, because that would be a wimpy thing to do. Crying... well, that was Kenta's job. No offense to the little guy.

My mother quietly started to fix the headpiece onto my head, her gentle fingers running through my hair. I let her baby me for a while.

Looking at me must hurt, I thought. I had my dad's hair, and so did Ryuto. So I guess I reminded my mother of both of them. I wondered how painful it must be for her. Suddenly, I didn't feel like talking anymore.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Hana?" Ryo.

I got up, opened the door, and let Ryo in with a slight glare of hostility.

"What's wrong?" He pulled my mother into his chest. She cried into his shirt as he rubbed her back soothingly.

I glared at him openly now. Then, I let myself out of the room.

As I watched the elevator numbers go down from 10 to 1, I paced the tiny compartment.

I hated being pitied.

I hated being seen as weak.

I hated Gingka for beating me at Battle Bladers and for being so admired.

I hated Doji for convincing me to join the Dark Nebula.

I hated L-Drago for possessing me.

I hated my mother for replacing my father with Ryo.

I hated Ryo for starting relationship with my mother.

I hated my father for dying.

I hated Ryuto for being so noble.

I hated my sister for being so closed up and secretive.

I hated myself because I turned out so wrong.

And I pretty much hated this stupid list of people and things that I hate.

So when the doors opened, I crossed the lobby, emerged into the sunlight, and broke into an all-out sprint.