a/n: sorry for the delay. I was in canada. And my grandpa died. and then my final prep class started. and then spring break was over. Sucks for me lol.
chapter 3:
I was so scared that I didn't know where to turn. I dropped to my knees and buried my head in my hands. I told myself that it was just my imagination despite the fact that I hadn't seen my mom in person for years. I knew that my father would never allow her to stay a part of this family if she had done something like that... but he was still legally married to her and had no intention of divorcing her. I couldn't understand why he would stay with her if my nightmares were true... except to save our family from a scandal that would ruin our name forever. If word ever got out about me and my mother's... Oedipus-like relationship... we'd be in for a world of hate. People would look down on us as if we were commoners wallowing in the mud and grime.
After thinking about that I realized that it made sense that they never divorced but that raised another question. Where exactly was my mother? I almost didn't want to know for fear that I would have to face her. Tears welled up in my eyes as I attempted to come to terms with what had happened. I knew one thing for sure.
I needed to see a picture of my mother. I need to remember what she looked like or I'd never know if my nightmares were true.
I ran out of the room, leaving my computer behind, and dashed down a flight of stairs before searching every room, parlor, hall, and corridor for a picture of my mother. There were none to be found. I looked everywhere and not a single of picture of anyone let alone my mother. In a blind panic driven by my complete and utter obsession with the nightmare a ran around the entire mansion twice before collapsing in an exhausted, sweaty, and mentally-drained heap outside my father's office.
"It has to be here," I panted in exasperation, removing my glasses and running a hand through my hair.
It seemed a change had come over me. Ever since the first nightmare I'd been thrown into a whirlwind of emotions- emotions I didn't know how to deal with. I didn't feel like myself. I was so wild and crazy and uncontrollable- so Tamaki- and I didn't like it. All my emotions seemed to spill down my face in tears that I simply couldn't control. They spilled down my cheeks in rivers and I sobbed brokenly.
"Is my life a lie!? Why don't I remember any of this!?" I sobbed into the floor as I lay with my knees curled under me, my face burrowed against the floor, and my fists lying limply on the floor before me.
"Kyouya,"
I looked up to meet eyes with my father who seemed strangely sad. So much so that I almost didn't believe my own eyes. He bade me to come inside into his office and offered a hand to help me to my feet.
I didn't take it.
Once inside I stood waiting for his command to sit for I was forbidden to be seated before such a command was issued. However, it never came. Instead, he pushed me by my shoulders into the chair and stood beside his desk. I was ashamed to be seen crying. This- this thing that happened to me seemed to have taken every shred of my mental well being and torn it to pieces leaving me a sobbing wreck. I wanted to be strong but I just couldn't keep myself under control. The monstrous memories in my mind were destroying me with my own tears.
I looked around the room trying my best not to look nervous. His office was a very stiff, very formal looking room if the rigid seats, cold modern design, and grey and silver color scheme was any good indication. It felt like a hospital for the air was cold and had a sterile smell like disinfectant. Needless to say, it was not a comfortable room.
He stared me down from behind opaque glasses before addressing me in a very serious and insultingly rudimentary manner as if was far too out of sorts to comprehend his speech.
"What did you see?" said he.
"Mother... raped me." I said in a voice so coarse with stress that I barely recognized it as my own. He didn't answer and instead continued to stare me down for several seconds. I wasn't sure whether or not he expected me to continue but as I opened my mouth to speak he cut me off.
"How much do you remember?" he asked me, running a hand along his goatee.
"I don't know," I began nervously before finding my courage, "Tell me what happened. Why don't I remember anything?"
He took a few measured steps towards me as if I were a small, unstable animal trapped in a corner who could and would run at any moment. He placed a hand on my shoulder and sighed.
"Are you sure you want to know?"
"Yes."
I spoke with surprising conviction. I suppose that in my heart I knew I needed to know the truth.
He removed his hand from my shoulder and went to his desk and, after some riffling around in the lower drawers of the desk, produced an old photograph that was around eight years old. He came to me and placed it into my hand face down before leaning close to my ear.
"I never wanted it to come to this." he whispered before pulling away. I turned the picture over and came face to face with the woman from my nightmares.
Brown hair flowed down her shoulders gracefully and chilling blue eyes stared deep into my soul. I shivered. My eyes glazed over as I stared at the photograph in sheer horror. In my mothers hands was a small child who was but four years old. It could only be me. I stared at her and noted the overprotective way that she held me; with my face away from the camera and he arms covering me as much as possible. I was shocked at how sickeningly erotic the clothes I'd been wearing were. I dropped the picture into my lap with a disgusted expression.
"That's her. She raped me. I was only a child!" I exclaimed as tears continued to roll down my cheeks.
My father looked at me solemnly and asked me once again if I could handle the truth in my present state. I retorted that I was not a child- and apparently hadn't been one for a long time- and could handle it.
I can handle anything.
