"You want me to come over? To supervise you?" Akira asked and Takumi could hear him summoning the leftovers of his patience.
He answered unrepentantly, "I've decided it's the only way. I'm not going to finish my assignment otherwise."
"No."
"Please?"
"Don't be ridiculous-"
"Around six? I'll let security know to let you in downstairs. See you!"
"You-"
Takumi hung up with great satisfaction. He knew that he was being unreasonable but it was achieving several goals simultaneously. Besides, he wanted to see Akira.
The day was already looking good.
He spent the rest of the afternoon trying to tidy up his apartment since Akira was a neat freak. It was still a mess but it would have to do.
He should get a takeout too. Takumi was flicking through the delivery options on his phone when a call came through.
His father. Odd.
"Dad?"
"Come home. Now."
A strained order.
"What's wrong?" Takumi asked.
"We'll speak when you are back."
It was probably another lecture. Although Takumi was certain that he didn't commit any of the cardinal sins listed in his father's rulebook recently.
He could however get a better takeaway from the family home's kitchen for dinner.
"Okay. On my way."
"Good." The line went dead.
Takumi sighed.
It didn't take him long to reach the family home. A plain monstrosity of a mansion. Takumi parked his car and sauntered through the door.
The first thing he noticed was the eerie silence. That in itself was no cause for alarm but even the servants were more subdued than usual today.
His steps quickened to his father's study. He didn't bother to announce himself when he flung the doors open.
He walked into hell.
His father sat behind his desk, grim and determined. His mother was lounging on the couch, beautiful and nervous. Daisuke was absent.
But his other brother sat opposite his mother.
Despite himself, Takumi took a step back. The air sucked out of his chest. The air around began to entrap him.
Fear. Denial. Horror.
"Come in. It's unpleasant but we need to discuss this."
He could hear his father but it was no match for the other conversation playing in his mind. The sickening feeling which was lodged in the pit of his stomach. A crawl which numbed his skin.
He turned around and was going to run before another voice seized him.
"Takumi."
It unleased the anguish and fury within. Long held. Too much.
He swung to face Wataru and hissed, "Don't call my name. You sick son of a bitch."
"Takumi!" his mother exclaimed.
"What the fuck is wrong with all of you?" Takumi shouted. "What is he doing here?"
Wataru stood up and pleaded, "Please. Listen to me."
"Shut up," Takumi cut him sharply.
"Dear, I know it's difficult for you.." his mother tried to placate him.
"Difficult?" Takumi nearly laughed. "Is that it? Really?"
Wataru interjected, "It was my crime. I'm sorry-"
"SHUT UP!" Takumi raged.
His father rose but remained impassioned. "Enough. All of you. Close the door."
Takumi glared at him and challenged, "And what? Discuss this like adults? Pretend nothing ever happened?"
"Wataru has been discharged from the facility," his father replied coolly. "It's not necessary or possible for him to remain there. His movements will be monitored and he will keep a distance from you."
He gave Wataru a cutting glance, "Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," Wataru replied quickly.
But Takumi caught a nuance in his father's sentence, even as he steeped in a pit of dirt and disgust.
He had said that it was not possible.
"You mean the facility couldn't keep it quiet any longer?" Takumi asked, his voice faltering. "So you had to bring him back here?"
No one answered him. There was no need. He saw the truth in his father's eyes and his mother looking away from him.
Then he forced himself to look at Wataru.
The last time they were in a room together, Takumi discovered a monster lurking underneath the ordinary and unimpressionable mask.
Wataru was older now. Gaunt and thin. His expression subdued and chastened.
But Takumi still saw a monster.
He whispered shakily, "Go to hell. All of you."
Then he stormed off.
xxxxxxxx
He might have run a couple of traffic lights or nearly slammed into a car.
Takumi was still in a daze when he entered his apartment.
His body stood like a hanging ragdoll in the middle of his living room.
The scene wouldn't stop playing in his mind. Every sensation and syllable as clear as if it had just happened yesterday.
He was locked in a fury he couldn't douse. So incensed that he could trash everything in his apartment.
It was the underlying hint of accusation in their eyes. The same reason which caused his father to avoid him or his mother to pretend that it never happened.
What Wataru had whispered to him back then, in some feverish madness which until today, caused Takumi nightmares.
It was Takumi's fault. He was so beautiful and alluring. He could tempt almost anyone to do the unimaginable.
After numerous therapy sessions, Takumi knew that it was all bullshit. His doctor had drilled it into his brain that he wasn't to blame for what happened.
When he was awake and calm, he understood that.
But when his own family looked at him, they sowed seeds of doubts which never truly disappeared.
It wasn't as if he could do anything about it. He didn't control the genetic combination which produced his face.
Takumi's eyes caught a glint on the kitchen counter. Something sharp and pretty.
Wait.
That was not true. He could do something about it.
Bizarrely, it was entirely within his control.
It was HIS face after all. Takumi was well within his right to do anything he wanted with it.
He laughed. Why hadn't he thought about this?
He walked over slowly and picked up the object. Gleaming stainless steel.
He must have forgotten to put it back in the rack.
It looked solid. Clean.
He held it against his arm to test.
There was a line. Straight and sure.
Blood. Red and stark.
There was no pain. It would be easy.
So easy.
Takumi could almost picture it.
He raised the knife.