Exhaling a soft breath of air, he inhales harsher, the boy panting like a dog as air rushes in, out, in, out, over and over again with each molecule burning and carving down his trachea to his bronchi.
At this point, stabilizing himself seemed to be far out of the question as his breathing escalates up in tone, faster and faster with hands grasping up to his head, slipping themselves through black locks of hair and pulling, clawing at his scalp while memory flashes before his eyes. And he could remember her draconian gaze, built rough and held rough, her rigid lips as her hand came down, again and again upon his back and his tiny frail body, remember the "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," slipping out of his mouth and tasting salt water on his tongue as he sobbed and begged.
Sitting pressed hunched up against the wall, Kaneki is rocking himself back and forth on folded legs, quietly hitting back against the wall. The carpet below his feet and bare legs feel rough, far too rough than what his skin had held in reminiscence. His lips were moving, mouthing out little spells of words and phrases stuck together and held with glue, a mess like the trembles that racked through him.
Somewhere, his mother sits upon a worn wooden chair, having been sat on for so many times, working endlessly and without nary an emotion on her face, curtains billowing from the window above her studio and the wind, warm and refreshing.
How?
The question races through Kaneki's mind, the raven boy blinking back the starting of tears as he considers.
How was she able to continue on her day as though there was no hell earlier, as if there was no fire striking him in the form of her palm?
He chokes on his air, hell fire licking its way up and down his throat.
No, no, he loves his mother, she was caring and supportive... In regular mantra, he repeats to himself the words she has told him many time again,
It's better to be hurt than to hurt others, it's better to be hurt than to hurt others, it's better to be hurt than to hurt others-