Hello, everyone, I'm here with chapter three! It's longer than all my other chapters, and I'm feeling really confident in this one. Please enjoy!
Dont forget to R&R, everyone!
Now, I know what you're thinking. How could I, Hamato Leonardo, the so-called perfect son, the fearless leader, be depressed and abused? Well, I'll tell you exactly why, from the very beginning.
It all started when I had been chosen to take the burden and responsibility of leading myself and my brothers into battle. I had gratefully accepted the role, as I was all too excited and anxious to start being the best I could be, to really notice how much I would be treated differently. I was acting blind and ignorant. Idiotic and dull-witted. Simpleminded and foolish. I should've seen what was coming for me, but I wasn't thinking about my consequences as leader. I was thinking about being better, getting more advanced trainings, and getting ahead of all of my brothers. Of course, what other ten year old would think about consequences? I know I didn't, and that is one of the worst mistakes of my life.
...
Little feet stampled across the lair floor as a tiny, ten year old figure ran to the dojo, jumping for joy as he was about to experience his very first private training as the leader of a ninja team. This could be the time to prove himself to his Sensei, to his brothers, and show them that he has the reputation for such a high honor. He could finally learn more about the beauty in the art of ninjutsu, and take after his very father, who he had admired greatly. That day was going to great, he knew and believed it with all the motivation he held. The boy had been thinking nothing short of it all day, as he imagined himself standing tall in the mist of battle, commanding his own ninja team. He pictured himself defeating his enemies in cold, swift actions, leaving the bloody battlefield in victory. He pictured being praised by his brothers, he was the very hero that had saved them all from harm. He had high hopes for this role, as he was just accepted for the role that very morning. He exclaimed himself in pure energy and excitement, completely oblivious to what he was going to be put through throughout his entire time in that position.
...
"Please, stop! You're hurting me!" The boy cried out as his Sensei, his father, brutally beat him with a wooden sword that he had gotten off of the weapon rack in the dojo.
"What was that?!" His Sensei had yelled, as he started to beat the boy harder, "Never ask for mercy! Would you beg for mercy if I were to be an enemy?! An enemy never holds back! An enemy will never have mercy!" He had stopped bringing the weapon down onto his small son, but instead, grabbed the delicate fabric tied around the turtle's head, yanking the boy to his feet. The child trembled violently at the sight of his father, and gulped quietly. This was a dream, right? What had happened to the unconditional love that was shared between the father and all his sons? What had happened to the hugs and kisses in the morning and at bed time? What had happened to the fun trainings with his brothers, who, in fact, had hardly seen him that day? What happened to him, to his father, to everyone?
"Never," the old rat spat in the child's ear, snapping the small turtle from his thoughts, "complain about pain again. Complaints bring punishments. Like what was said, an enemy will never have mercy." The small boy nodded shakily, his tiny frame still trembling in fear. The rat threw the child to the side and left the dojo, barking out the punishment, "Fifty flips and two advanced katas! I don't want to see a rest until it's perfect!"
This had not been anything that the little boy had expected. He thought that, now that he was leader, he was special, able to spend more time with his father, and get to learn higher advanced tricks in training. He'd be treated like the prince in royalty of his small family. Though, it was completely opposite. He'd never even thought about being beat, especially by his own father, his Sensei, his role model. This seemed very much like a dream to him. It had to be.
The tiny boy shakily stood up and began his long punishment, which ended with him collapsing in the middle of the dojo floor from exhaustion.
...
I haven't complained since. In fact, many things have changed for me since that very experience on that day. I thought that I would take pride into those trainings and go through them with a proud smile on my face. I thought that I would conquer anything in them, and earn praise and support from my father. Though, all those thoughts washed away that day, spilling down into a lake like a waterfall, completely flowing out of sight, and out of mind. I've never thought anything positive about those private trainings since I first realized how they were being enforced upon me.
Every time I preform something correctly and as expected to, I only get met with another expectation, which advances from the last. I'm never congratulated for any of my successes anymore, and though, this might sound greedy and rude, I miss those times where the attention was focused on me. I always felt proud of myself, and often sprang into a kind of happy-go-lucky mood. I would last forever in that mood, not letting the slightest of difficulties weigh me down. I felt invincible, thinking that I could never—in my crazy, messed up life—break.
Well, I have broken. I have broken into a million pieces, with each and every piece scattered to different places of this world, making it completely impossible to collect them and mend them back to place. In other words, multiple pieces are missing within me, leaving me incomplete. Sometimes, my mind wonders to where those very pieces lay; maybe they're lost in my mind, or in the minds of those around me. Maybe they're trapped inside me, in a dark, hidden corner, unable to recieve light and become shined upon. My small piece of happiness has been pilfered by my father, who has kept the piece hidden, out of existence, for several years. He realizes that I am remarkably miserable without it, and he chooses to keep it that way. I feel as though he enjoys my misery, my stress, my anxiety. He enjoys seeing me in pain, he enjoys see me crack and break, right at the soles of his feet. He'll do anything to make sure that I fall.
My piece of belonging has been taken by my intermediate younger brother, who has ignored the fact that he has it, right in his hand. I will not lie, my brother holds more than one piece that has been stolen from me, but he chooses to ignore the fact that I am lost without them. He's made me realize many flaws within myself, for which I've punished myself for, many times. I cannot have flaws; it could only show all of my very weaknesses. I can never collapse underneath the responsibility and burden of the position I have taken, yet, I always seem to. I always seem to make a mistake, every time, no matter how hard I try to make things right. The mistakes could cost much more than we could ever imagine, and that exact thought haunts me, each and every night. The mistakes, the pain, the regret. These things have made me realize that I've certainly made too many mistakes in my life, which I am also punished for, as I am practically forced, by my father, to become the perfect leader in this world.
I've chosen to do things to myself that I, sometimes, highly regret. But other times? In other times, I enjoy the pain I inflict upon myself. I feel like I deserve it for the sort of things I have done and have committed to doing. I know that I deserve every piece of pain, but I can't ever will myself to go beyond it and the depression—suicide. Yeah, sure, I've thought much about it, and even tried it a few times, but I can't risk leaving my family for good, no matter how badly I get treated. I mean, what if my father chooses a new leader, and starts to abuse them, like he does to me? I can never let that happen, not to any of my little brothers. I have to stay to protect them, to protect him. Even though I know that they hate me for it, that he hates me for it, I'll still protect them with my life, because I know that they won't miss me if something happens. I know that if I end up getting killed within battle for taking the blow that was surely meant for one of them, they would shake it off, maybe not even shed a tear, and move on. It'll be just that easy for them. They'll develop a new leader, respect him and praise him, and everything will be okay. But I've sworn to myself that I'll never let anything harm them, as long as I'm there, and as long as I'm in reach. They are my source to live, my energy, my adrenaline. They give me a reason to fight, and if there's one thing that's worth fighting for, forever, then it's my family.
My family—who I am nothing but a weapon to, who I am nothing but a protector to, a shield to—is the reason why I am still walking this cruel earth. I don't care how they see me, as a waste of space, a waste of time. I'll always love and protect them with everything in me, even though things between myself and my brothers have dramatically changed since I accepted the role as leader. I've lost all three of my brothers, but my loss of Raphael had changed the most, and had changed me the most. We were so close, and able to do anything together with no care or worry in the world. We never fought, we never argued. Everything was smooth and easy. We never had any problems with playing games, working on training moves, or even simply sitting down to talk. He loved me, and I loved him. I still do, even if he doesn't feel the same. I never thought that we'd change, but somehow, we did, and I hate it. I hate it with a passion that burns like fire.
...
He was standing at the door frame, watching closely as his immediate younger repeatedly smacked and kicked at the new punching bag that had been given to him recently for his birthday. He watched every move, every punch, every swing, every kick. He watched with admiration and interest into the hothead, as the said figure seemed appealing to him, catching his obvious attention. He had been crushing on the hothead for only a few months, but he had already fallen for his brother, in ways that his words cannot describe. He has only wished for Raphael to feel the same; if only, if only he did. He never would, he knew that, but that would never change the fact that he had these feelings for the younger. He walked up to the youngest of the two, only to get a cold acknowledgement.
"What do ya' want?" Raphael had growled at his eldest, not even taking a small glance into his direction. He continued his work on the punching back with sweat dripping from his forehead, his brows furrowed, and his eyes focused.
"Uh, I just wanted to know if you wanted to play? Maybe take a walk in the sewers? We haven't done that in a while."
Raphael stopped and looked at him, which, in turn, made the eldest tense majorly. The boy refused to lock his gaze into Raphael's, afraid that he might give away a secret that's been held for only months, which has felt like years.
"Why would ya' want ta' do that? Don't cha' have ya' private trainin' later?"
"Well, y-yeah, but-" The boy stuttered, starting to fiddle with his small fingers, still keeping his gaze from his younger.
"There's no 'but's, Leo. Ya' always talk 'bout how much trainin' ya' got, so why don't cha' go do it?"
"I-I don't have it right now, Raph. I was just wondering, i-if you wanted to do somethi-"
"Well, ya' know what? I don't, 'kay? I ain't ever gonna do somethin' with ya' anymore."
The nervous boy finally switched his gaze up, his big, sapphire eyes locking into the emerald ones in front of him. "W-Why not?"
"Whadaya' mean, 'why not'? Ya' know exactly why! Don't cha' have more important things ta' do, than waste ya' time with me?"
His eyes widened, his face flipping like a table, his expression of confusion turning to denial. "No, of course not, Raph! I'll always have time for one of my brothers."
"Oh, really? Ya' have ignored me for nothin' but trainin', for two years! Nothin's gonna fix that!"
"Look, I'm sorry, but I've just been getting too many things on my mind, and I haven't had the time to-"
"Ya' see?! That's exactly it! Ya' don't have time ta' hang out with us, because ya' too busy bathin' in Splinter's praise!"
His eyes slowly watered as he forced himself to look away from the glowing green irises of his brother. Every word that has escaped Raphael's mouth was wrong, as he was more wrong than he would ever know. But he couldn't tell him, he couldn't reveal the secret that he's been hiding for two years, ever since that horrifying day in the dojo. The insults, the beatings, the sword, the fists, the punishment, the anger, the hate, and he could never tell, or it would lead to something worse . . .
The gruff and angry voice of his brother had snapped him out of his dreadful thoughts, as he had still kept his gaze down to the floor. "I hate that ya' always have ta' put off ya' family, for ya' precious trainin'! I hate that ya' act like ya' all perfect, when ya' really nothin' but a mistake! I hate ya', Leo! I hate ya'!"
And with that, the hothead stormed away, not realizing the damage he had just caused.
His eyes started to water faster as he watched his brother walk away, as he now felt the hot, fresh tears rolling down his small cheeks.
...
He had ran to his room and to the bed, quickly grabbing his pillow and breaking down, his loud sobs becoming too muffled to hear. He had just been insulted, rejected, loathed, and broken, all by the one he loved the most. He had always known that Raphael changed around him, but he never would've imagined that something like that would be said. Maybe Raphael was lying, and he didn't really hate his brother? Maybe he never meant what he said? No, that's not a question. Raphael speaks his mind, no matter what the consequences are. He always tells what he thinks, and he doesn't care how it affects others. Everything his about him, around him.
After much time, his small frame sat there, against the bed, as the crying had finally lured him to sleep. Tears had stained his tiny cheeks, leaving marks on his cherubic face. The pillow was soaked in tears, sweat, and snot, that had come from the blue cladded child. The boy had sobbed for hours, unable to hold in the pain that he was feeling.
He felt unwanted by his own brother, his own crush, who had just damaged him with absolutely no regard. But the damage, the dramatic damage, had not been caused by the words said, but by the way he had acted afterwards. He had walked away with no sympathy, no sense, and no regret. That's what damaged him the most, and left him completely broken.
...
If I'm being completely honest, I would've never expected someone like my immediate younger to say what he did that day. We had always stuck together, and we had promised to each other, and ourselves, that nothing would tear our relationship apart. We promised that we'd be there for each other through every dark moment; when one of us felt in the dark or lonely, the other would always be there for company. When one of us felt upset, the other would always be there to brighten our day. When one of us was happy, the other was, too. We never thought that things like this would happen—him describing his strong hatred towards me, for something that he has a false idea of, and our avoidance and separation, which has caused us to drift apart from each other. That was the day I broke, and I've been broken since.
...
What nobody had discovered that night was the broken mirror in the corner of the room, with part of the glass missing. It was sitting in the boy's hand, stained with blood, as it made short cuts along the other wrist.