Chapter Text
For the remainder of that day, Zorome and Daitan never saw eye-to-eye with each other. Both were grief-stricken; one was damaged psychologically from the consequences of the abuse they had been subjected to by Itsuki, while the other not just felt disgraced by the lack of support they provided for their child, but were astounded by how said child had physically assaulted them. Daitan ate very little, while Zorome never ate at all. He remained tucked away in his bedroom, speaking to Miyamoto as if it were another living person, leaving his room only to use the bathroom.
That night, Zorome slept in his bed with Miyamoto held closely to his chest. He used to do this long before the toy had been damaged, showing that his regression was still apparent. As he slept, not a single nightmare entered his mind. The stress of the repressed trauma was enough to make him sleep easily; in fact, while he retired to his bed at his usual time on a Friday—ten o’clock—he had fallen asleep by half past the hour, which was earlier than normal.
Morning gradually reared its head, with Zorome slowly stirring himself awake. He glanced at his bedside clock, which read quarter-past-nine. He had never felt so relaxed before. There was complete content for him. He turned onto his back, and as he stared up at his bedroom ceiling, he tried to piece together what had happened the day before. The sadness and anger he had experienced was intoxicating and almost like alcohol; he had almost forgotten the events of the previous day.
His eyes were partially open, his tiredness apparent, only to shoot open fully when he remembered what had happened. He peaked under his duvet, the only sight before him being his body in his pyjamas.
“Miyamoto?”
He was no longer emotionally regressed, but he was puzzled as to where the toy was. He checked the floor beside his bed, only to find the plush tanuki when he turned his head right. He grabbed hold of Miyamoto and sat up in his bed, the toy in his arms like a baby to their parent. The teenager was completely puzzled by how they had behaved the day before around his beloved item.
“What the hell was I like yesterday?” he quietly commented. As he inspected Miyamoto’s neck, he noticed it had changed. He distinctly remembered using a stapler to fix the toy, and yet, he was staring at brown string that had been used to stitch together the head and the body. If anything, the stitching was perfect. Unlike his stapling, there were no holes with cotton poking out. He knew the toy’s head had been torn off by his own father. He distinctly remembered it.
It then dawned on him why Miyamoto was the way it was. There was only one other person in the house. Daitan had repaired it despite her son’s furious demands that she kept her distance.
That was when another detail dawned on Zorome. As he thought through every single part of his emotional breakdown, both at Kaneko’s office and when he had returned home, he remembered the anger he felt towards his mother. And not just that; he hurt her. Not with words, like his father did to him, but with actual physical contact, something Itsuki had never done to her. This made him feel sick to his stomach; he was comparing himself to his father and, in his eyes, he perceived himself as being just as bad, if not worse.
Yet another realisation struck him; Daitan grew cold towards Itsuki following the APE scandal, and it was clear she would never forgive him despite how he never sought it. It was also clear to Zorome with very little guessing that she would not forgive him for the abuse he subjected him to. Perhaps, deep down when she became cold, she used the distance between herself and her disgraced husband as a chance to denounce him for his crimes at home. This all meant one horrible possibility for Zorome: would she forgive her own son for his actions the day before?
His heart sank deeper than it had ever done before. He felt atrocious. Zorome had apologised for previous misdeeds, both with his parents and his friends, but none reached the same level of awfulness as what he had done to his own mother. He had to apologise. Even if she did not accept it, he had to make it clear to her he regretted his past mistake.
Zorome placed Miyamoto on his desk and climbed out of bed. He slowly walked out of his bedroom and entered the hallway, the sound of the television downstairs in the living room being the sign of where Daitan was. Step by step, he made his way down the staircase and entered the living room, his mother seated on the sofa closest to the door. She was watching a morning chat show, which involved two presenters and a guest sitting on a sofa in the studio they were in. Daitan’s head was turned away and facing the television itself, which was close to the large window. She was seated on the end of the sofa that was closer to the end of the room.
Zorome took small steps as he furthered himself inside the living room, slowly lowering himself beside where she sat. He did not even feel as though he deserved to sit next to her, let alone speak to her, but he had to try. He looked up at her but turned himself away and lowered his head in shame. She did not deserve the treatment he subjected her to.
For a few minutes more, the only sound in the living room was from the television. Once an advertising break occurred, Daitan grabbed hold of the remote from the armrest and used it to turn the television off. After placing the remote back on the armrest, she too lowered her head in shame. Just like her son, she knew the best thing to do now was to address the problem itself. She slowly looked over at him, making him raise his head and face her.
“I’m sorry,” he squeaked, tears visible in his eyes.
“I know,” she softly replied. As he began to cry, she tried to reach out and hug him, but he gently pushed her off.
“No,” he quickly replied. He was angry, but nowhere near to the extent he was the day before. “No. I don’t deserve it. Not after what I did yesterday.” The tears rolled down his cheeks as his sadness consumed him, his remorse apparent. “I don’t understand why you even love me. I’m a complete failure, just like Dad said. I’m not smart. Hiro is better than me, and so are all my other friends. I’m a complete moron. And to make things worse…” He snivelled, the words he was going to speak clearly upsetting him the most. “I’m just like Dad.”
“No, you’re not,” Daitan told him. She grabbed hold of his hand, which he did not let go of. “You are nothing like him.”
“Yes, I am,” Zorome sobbed. “He never regretted doing any of the things that he did to us. He never said he was sorry. And now… I’ve hurt you. He never did that to you.”
“But you know you did wrong, which is what sets you apart from your father.” Daitan was firm. “Zorome, you’ve always apologised for anything bad you’ve done. You have more remorse than your father has ever had. Also…” She held his other hand. “While all parents have high expectations of their children, what your father subjected you to was atrocious. He had no right to do that to try and enforce his beliefs on you. Also, you are not a moron. You may be getting Cs at the moment, but I know you can do better. That doesn’t mean I’m going to shout in your face, telling you to do better. I’ll encourage and enforce what I can to help you, but the fearmongering your father did only made things worse.”
After a few seconds of staring at his mother, Zorome hugged her. The two embraced, the teenager crying over his parent’s shoulder. It was evident she forgave him, but he still felt terrible. There was more on his mind than just guilt, however, and it upset him immensely. It pained him, but he knew he had to say it.
“Mum,” he whimpered, their embrace still held. “I love you, and I will still love you no matter what, but… I… I…”
“You’re still angry with me?”
He failed to choke back a sob. He felt horrible, making him bury his face in her shoulder.
“That’s perfectly fine.”
“No!” he wept. “It isn’t. Mum, I hurt you. I should never have done that.”
“Hurting someone like that is only one way of showing you’re angry with someone.” She comfortingly rubbed his back. “It was wrong, and I forgive you for that. But if you’re still angry, it’s fine. You have every right to be. I failed you. I failed the both of us. This wound still needs healing. It’s going to take time, or maybe it won’t heal at all. Let’s see how things go.”
“I would rather forgive you than… than him.”
He lifted his head from her shoulder, his puffy red eyes and runny nose being the first thing she noticed. They removed themselves from the hug and she offered the nearby tissue box, which he used the tissues from to dry his eyes and then blow his nose.
“By the way. Mum.” He looked at her. “Thank you for fixing Miyamoto even though I was an idiot.”
“I just want you to be happy,” she replied. He then reached over and kissed her on the cheek, only to look horrified when he realised where he had kissed her. The worst part was she possessed a visible scar where he had cut her with his nail.
“Your cheek!” he gasped. “Is it okay? Did I just—”
“It’s fine, Zorome,” Daitan laughed. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, and it didn’t hurt when you just kissed me.”
“Oh.” He breathed a sigh of relief, a hand on his heart. “Thank god.” He then smiled. “I think I’m going to have some breakfast. I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.”
“How about I cook us some scrambled eggs on toast?” Daitan asked. Zorome seemed to light up at the idea.
“I’d love that.”
“Would Miyamoto like to join us?”
Zorome’s face turned red. He was not angry, but he was certainly embarrassed. Daitan was trying her best not to laugh.
“He used to sit with us at the dinner table.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve grown out of that.” He scratched the back of his head. He then left the room to prepare himself for the day ahead. As Daitan made her way into the kitchen, she breathed a sigh of relief knowing that things were going to get better. Her son had recovered from his emotional regression, and while the road was still long for him to recover from the trauma, she could tell his future would be bright.