A/n: They actually name and show Kyouya's brothers. Kyouya's oldest brothers name in the cannon series is Yuuichi, which I think is a cool name. It means 'kind one' which is cool because he is nicer than Akito. Aktio means 'one who resents' which is even more appropriate.
I have no excuse for being on hiatus for so long. I'm very sorry. This will be my last ouran fanfiction, I think.
Chapter 15:
The days following my interview with the police were hectic. My father instructed me to stay in my room as much as possible, keep Tamaki close but not too close, and keep my mouth shut until the press conference.
Who was I to disobey him?
Kyouya Ohtori. That is my name. It is who I am, who I will be, and who will be my undoing. Kyouya Ohtori. My name now lives in the pity and empathy of other's hearts. My name, the name that has kept me on a leash my whole life, now is known throughout Japan and the world's upper societies. People see pictures of me on the news; hear my story in scattered bits, and make assumptions. My friends have been calling everyday, Tachibanna tells me, but my father has forbidden me to speak with them. He doesn't trust them-
And yet he's feeding the press statements to excite them as if waving a carrot before a horse's nose.
Apparently my feelings on this matter are inconsequential.
I hate this. I can't think a single coherent thought nor speak a sentence without looking like a broken toy. Although, I don't speak very often anyway... I've turned to keeping my mouth shut as much as possible because talking about things… hurts. This fact is why I am nervous about today. I'm sure I'll do absolutely fine with the interview itself but I'm worried that talking about it will reopen the wounds I've been carefully holding closed.
If the thread of others support be my stitches, then I know I will have scars forever.
Tamaki's love and support is helping a lot, but I need something I can't trace. Some people would say I need closure, but all I want to do is run away. Maybe all I need is a chance to breathe. Maybe the people trying to help me are only making it worse. Maybe my father should get his head out of his ass and back the fuck off.
I'm not ready for this press conference; but what am I to do but endure?
We've chosen to have the press conference at one of the side entrances to our home- an entrance for servants- to look more modest. My father insists it will make us appeal to the public more because we will look more normal. We're currently sitting in a small reception room for lower-importance guests. The room is small and has an air of belonging in a funeral parlor, though no one has ever dared say so. Furniture is limited and crammed into the small room; just two chalky-cream couches and an end-table with a fake potted fern that looks very out of place against the grey walls and floor. There is perhaps five or so square feet of free space in the room not counting the area used by the couches and end-table and it is rather disconcerting to have so many of us in such a small space. The 'us' that makes up our little group is myself, Tamaki, my father, and Akito- who'd come in curiosity to see me off. My father is pacing back and forth slowly, going over the plan in his mind. I watch him unobtrusively, hoping he'll calm down and sit down long enough for me to get a hold on my spent nerves. Tamaki is beside me, his right hand just barely brushing mine. He's quietly assuring me that things will be ok. I'm almost reassured. Akito is perched on the arm of the other couch, staring at me as if I am a fascinating painting or a nearly cracked cryptograph.
"Is there something you want, Akito?"
"Are you sure you're ready for this? We can't afford to have you screw up." he says suddenly.
"I am ready," I say softly, staring at him with my eyes obscured by my glasses.
"I certainly hope so." he says imperiously.
"Boys…" my father warns, sensing that Akito's hostile side was beginning to rear its ugly head.
"Remember what we said about the press. Keep calm and if they ask you something you haven't planned an answer for evade the question. You can do that much, right?" he continues harshly. He continues to eye me skeptically, as if he doubts my ability to talk to other humans.
"Don't worry Akito," I snap, "I know the fact that mother raped me is an inconvenience to you so I promise I won't make it any worse by botching the press conference. I would never want to cause you any trouble."
"Boys!" my father snaps, wheeling on Akito and I as he ceases his pacing for a moment, "Stop this bickering now!"
If not for how well our father had trained us, we would be knocking each other's teeth out. Our eyes lock, for a moment; his fiery and anxious for the thing to be done with, and mine cold and dead to the world. He looks away first, an expression of irritation on his features. Tamaki's hand presses more against mine and for once my father notices. I pull away as I feel his gaze on me, acting as though Tamaki's affectionate touch were an accident. I wish I could hold his hand for a moment as I prepare to do this.
My father's cell-phone rings and as he flips it open to check his text he gives us me the signal to open the doors. Tamaki wishes me good luck and Akito gives me a grimace meant to resemble a smile as I put my hand on the door. My father steps to my side and I shove the door open.
My heart nearly stops.
Outside there is a sea of reporters and microphones. They have surrounded the front of the podium we have decided to stand at and probe the air with hungry cameras and recoding equipment. The wall of people shivers and shakes with excitement, microphones on poles bristle like spines on a waiting predator as I step forward into the mouth of the beast. Like an angry chorus words are thrown at me; questions, statements, arguments, introductions. My father raises his hand for silence and, like an angry dog beside its master, the mob falls into a tense, begrudging, and somehow eager silence.
"Thank you for agreeing to come here for this conference. It has been hard to leave the house as of late with all the drama happening. It seems as though the whole country knows of our family now." My father says gracefully, drawing the tense beast into a calmer, more secure silence. The beast's spines, however, only bristle up more as it waits for its fuel.
"What I want to give first is our official statement on the current matter."
I can feel the excitement in the air as the beast practically salivates at the thought of such a juicy tidbit. My father gestures to me, offering up bait to soothe its savage temperament.
I begin speaking clearly and quietly into one of the microphones at our podium, "As a child I was sexually abused by my mother for upwards of two years. She molested and even engaged in sexual activity with me at that time. When I was eight, my father and brother walked in on one of our 'moments'. My father laid plans for her to be arrested and for a divorce but something happened to interrupt this plan. The next day she managed to get a hold of me and shoved me down the stairs. I was severely injured and the blow caused me to get amnesia. I lost all memory of my childhood until recently when another blow to the head during gym in school. When she found this out, she sent one of her bodyguards to spy on and follow me. I was later kidnapped by this man, flown across the ocean to Canada, taken to her home, and raped by the two of them. My father and best friend realized what was going on and took the first plane out of the country to come get me. They saved themselves hours by taking another plane from Montreal to Quebec rather than driving and arrived just in time to shoot the weapon from her hands as she was about to kill me."
It began to run together in my head as I silently fought to keep my cool. I shook my head a bit and began speaking away. "She'd killed her bodyguard only seconds earlier so that there would be no one left to say what'd happened. The police came soon enough and the rest is history as they say…"
I trail off, tilting my head so that my eyes are hidden by my glasses as I stare into the mouth of the beast. For a brief moment there is silence before the beast's deathly wailing fills the air. It screams at me- questions, statements, accusations tubing from its mouth like the drivel it is.
"There are rumors of a divorce? Is this true?" the beast's tongue spurted impatiently.
"Of course. She was a wretched woman and if I never see her again it will be too soon. We go to court in three weeks." My father says calmly. This is the part I know I will hate. This hypocrisy will kill me inside if there's anything left to kill. I know these questions will be the most painful of all.
"Mr. Kyouya! Mr. Kyouya! What's it like being a child abuse victim? Is it hard to deal with the after-affects?"
"I was very naive before and now that what remained of my childhood has been taken from me I feel conflicted. I'm angry and sad and hurt but with the support of my family and friends I know I will be able to live my life normally again."
Pure bullshit of course. The only one who's really helping is Tamaki. Not to mention that my family is less than supportive of me. If anything, they're annoyed.
"There's been tell that Ohtori-san my have known about the abuse prior to the night of your eighth birthday; care to comment?"
He knew. I know he knew….
"I was unaware of what she was doing until the night I witnessed it along with my third child, Akito. Of the four children we were lucky that she never made a pass at anyone else."
"Kyouya, your response?"
"He is telling the truth. He was in the process of taking a more serious action when I lost my memory and it was decided that keeping me in the dark was best. He's always had my best interests at heart."
The same way he looks out for his stock… These lies are somehow very painful. I almost wish he were telling the truth.
"Kyouya-san, will you be or are you seeing a therapist?"
"I will be seeing a therapist when the trial is settled."
Not if I can help it. I don't need a shrink staring me down and asking me how I feel.
"Ohtori-san do you feel any shame that your son was raped not only by his own mother but by another man?"
"I am not ashamed of him but of them. For the human race to have such vile creatures in it is disgusting. I hope he enjoys his eternity in hell. As for her, I hope she rots in jail for the rest of her life."
Maybe he should rot in jail too for what he did. He lied to me- and he never protected me.
A camera flashes flush in my eye. I'm blinded in more ways than one now. I'm angry- spitting mad in fact- at the world and at my father.
Another flash that cuts into my calm like a knife.
... My head is spinning all of the sudden. All around me I see and hear the beast and I know that every fiber of my being wants to run away. Someone asks a question to my father, I don't hear and don't listen to the answer either. Something like panic sets in as the beast continues to scream at me. I know that it will not be satisfied until one or both of us are eaten alive. Another question is posed, this time about the physical damage done to my body. I answer simply with a clear, calm voice that does not betray the unrest in my aching head. I can still feel the unease of the situation pulsing through me veins like poison.
Without thinking, I brush my hand against my father's- a plea, a cry, a scream for help- hoping he could do something to ease the situation that had so rapidly become tense and dangerous. I tip my head just enough for him to see my eyes unobscured for just a brief moment. He tips his head to for the shortest moment, looking to see my expression. I'm sure the beast does not notice. My father must have seen something in my eyes for now he issues a cold, hardened look at the beast, who backs off just enough for me to relax.
My heart is still racing and my head still aches.
I shove my hand against his again, this time impatiently, "please..." the action says. He jerks his hand against mine in response. "No," the action says, "just do what you're told."
So I back off. What else can I do when he's the one I'm fighting?
...
It has been half an hour. I think I'm going to explode. My mask is still firmly in place and I know that to the beast I appear calm and collected. On the inside I'm ready to kill someone.
I just want to be left alone with Tamaki. Is that too much to ask?
"Last question." My father says. I feel the breath I didn't know I'd been holding slip from my lungs. A lanky white man looks up at me, an unsettling gleam in his eyes.
"What now, Kyouya? What's holding you together? Any more of your family's flowery speeches prepared to answer me?" he asks. I swallow hard, feeling my mouth harden into a line. If he asks for poetry, that's what I'll give.
Poetry is part of the facade, is it not?
"You want a poem to explain, hmm?" I growl, feeling a bit cheeky, "Then let my strength be the glue as my family and friends hold the shards of my life together. The mask and facade shall remain unbroken with their good help."
My father stiffens up at this, his previously relaxed shoulders coiling up like a spring.
"No further questions." My father snaps. The beast lunges, teeth gnashing, spikes pricking everything in sight, as we dash back into our home.
