Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Curl ❯ Chapter 15

"AOSHI!" the hollering echoed through the empty halls of the Shinomori house. Footsteps made their way down the hall, every door opening and slamming shut. "Dammit, where the hell is that boy?" There was the sound of liquid swishing back and forth in a container, some spilling and the dulled dripping on the carpet was trailing with each step. The boy in question was silent, as he almost always now. Even drunk, his father's senses were better than most normal men.

Martial arts kind of ran in the family. It was how his parents first met. But his mother wasn't there anymore. She'd been gone, with no word, for almost two weeks now. When his father had been out on business for the day, and Aoshi had a camping trip that weekend… they came home to find everything of hers… gone. Her dresses, her winter clothes, her miles of shoes, the shelves of perfume, her collection of antique masks, all of her jewelry... as if they vanished into thin air. Everything of hers was gone, except her wedding ring. That was the only shred of evidence that she ever existed in that house, and it sat on her bedroom dresser.

It was now securely pressed to a young boy's chest, his last chain of hope. He wasn't going to give it back, no matter what. His mother was coming back, he just knew she would. And when she did, she'd remember the things she'd left behind. Of course she would.

Aoshi could hear him coming, and the door was flung open suddenly, blinding light streaming into his bedroom. He hid in his closet, peeking through the wooden shutters, his body stiffened in fright. It was like watching a horror movie unfold before his eyes, and he was the very next victim. The psychopath had revealed himself, in all his marvelous true colors, with a little help from our friend, Jack Daniel's.

"I know you're here, Aoshi," his father put on his 'trust me' voice. The voice had been used in the last week or so to draw the boy in, only so he could be harshly thrown back away. The shame in the boy's heart grew day by day. Was he always going to be this weak? Why didn't she call? Why wouldn't she call?

Tucking his head between his knees, drawing them up to his chest, he waited. Better him than his mother. She'd come back. She'd come back and make them a family again, and everything would be alright. They'd all live happily ever after, just like on television.

And he waited. For the inevitable, he simply had nowhere to run. Folding his hands over his head, bracing himself for the upcoming onslaught as the closet doors slowly began to open, one lonely tear slid down his cheek. The bottle broke against the wall, and the end of his father's belt tickled at his toes, then the man wrapped the leather about his own wrist. And so it began.

*-*-*-*

"Shinomori Aoshi, you're late for class, again. I'm afraid this is unacceptable behavior, young man."

Aoshi, nine years old now, had overslept. His father kept him up late last night, holding him in a headlock while he forced him to look at pictures of his mother and him when they were still happy with one another. It was just like the anniversaries past. It would always begin with an "Aoshi, my boy" and end with "You fucking son of a whore." His neck was terribly sore now, not to mention he found it really difficult to stay awake.

"Sumimasen, Sensei," the boy bowed respectfully. Aoshi never gave any excuses for his behavior, and he never defended himself. 'Just like at home.' He just said what they wanted to hear for the time being, while he spent most of his thoughts engrossed in fantasies of violent atrocities. The other kids were scared of him, the way he was quiet, and kept to himself. Frankly, he could care less what they thought. To him they were all twits. They were pathetic cogs following in step of a machine of false reality. He hadn't really been listening when the teacher told him that his father would be called, he simply nodded numbly and went on with the charade.

*-*-*-*

Aoshi stared up at the ceiling, as he wasn't in a position to get up right then. His head was pounding, and he was still trying to catch his breath from getting the wind knocked out of him. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, and its scent tickled his nose. Every muscle in his body screamed when he had tried to move before, so now he just lay there limply. At least he wouldn't have to go to the hospital… his father had learned that doctors ask questions, and a boy can only fall down the stairs *so* many times.

The house was silent now, which meant his father had left or passed out. It made no difference. None of it mattered anymore.

*-*-*-*

He wondered why he couldn't do it. The plans he had, they were fool-proof. Aoshi could feasibly kill his father, and get away with it. The boy lived between school, the library, and the dojo. He had to fake signatures every once in a while, permissions for field trips, to go to tournaments. His father didn't honestly know the time of day, let alone if his son were home or not. It was only when he was home did it matter to his father.

He reminded him of her. And he drove him crazy each time without fail.

His school work was of no real challenge; he simply paid no attention to it. Aoshi was too busy entertaining his murderous thoughts. Nobody ever sat down and taught him it wasn't healthy to be fourteen and bloody-thirsty. Perhaps he was just distracting himself from wanting to kill himself, but regardless he wanted someone to bleed. It was painfully frustrating, however, as he would do all this preparation, all of this thinking, and then once he was finally faced toe-to-toe with his father… Everything he studied, looked up, it was all useless. No matter of law or legality could stop that hand from coming down on him, none of those anarchist cookbooks had to look their father in the eye.

The turning point came, he supposed, when he first found out about his mother's "new family." It was after the divorce had been made official and the custody battle raged on. He was the Shinomori heir after all, kami knows how many yen he was worth. Aoshi almost smiled.

Strangely, he'd never been all that interested in killing his mother. He wouldn't admit it was anything remotely related to the fact he couldn't do to some poor bastard what his mother had done to him. Then again, that child was no longer a bastard, now was he? Aoshi's pencil snapped in his hand. His mother officially toted the name Sagara, and he failed to see why she was so proud. The aisles of books around him seemed to mean nothing, as if he was no longer there anymore. He was too far within himself that he nearly failed to register the librarian asking him to leave for closing.

*-*-*-*

It was Aoshi's fifteenth year when his father, surprisingly sober, sat him down in his office and began to circle him. The boy didn't even look at him, he sensed where his father was in the room, and braced himself. Something was definitely up. His father finally moved behind his desk and sat down. Aoshi nearly flinched when the man reached for his desk drawer. Nearly.

"Aoshi-kun. As I understand it, your teachers all complain of your performance. Or should I say, lack there of," his father said bluntly, as he produced a large stack of envelopes bound by a rubber band. It sounded like he was talking to a secretary who made his coffee with too much cream. "They tell me your grades have gone a steady decline, and your attentiveness in class is dwindling…" The Shinomori patriarch would stop and look at Aoshi, as though he was going to say something, but the boy never interrupted. Bringing out one of the letters, he read it word for word, "Your son has been routinely tardy, and his performance in class is less than his potential. He has not been participating in club activities, nor does he get along with any of his fellow classmates…"

The boy still remained stoic in his seat. Didn't his father know all of that was his fault? He had covered for his old man's antics for so damn long that it became part of his regularly scheduled programming. Aoshi ground his teeth behind his emotionless mask, and was tempted to stare at his father defiantly. But, the boy kept his cool, as usual.

"I'm afraid that I can no longer control you," Aoshi only blinked in response. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?... Do you have any idea what an embarrassment you are to me? To our name? What has been going through your head lately?" His father seemed to be getting exasperated, which meant he was going to hit the bottle pretty soon. When his father turned his chair away from him, Aoshi rolled his eyes.

'All he cares about is the name, so that's what this is about.' This had nothing to do with him, or how he was doing. It was all about his father and how he looked. 'He's worried about looking like a bad father *now*??' He obviously didn't know how much his son did for him… hiding the bruises, making excuses to his teachers of why he couldn't come to meetings…

His father stayed turned away for quite a while. Aoshi figured he was going for his flask. 'Gee, Dad, don't get bashful about it now,' the boy relaxed in his chair for the time being. As he wasn't about to get the beating of his life, at least not yet, he glanced out the window. He looked just in time to see it was going to rain.

"I have no choice, Aoshi. You put me in this position, so I have to do this," Wow this was starting to sound like he was about to get beat. Aoshi raised an eyebrow, and quickly dropped it when his father turned back around to look at him.

"You're going to boarding school."

*-*-*-*

England wasn't so bad. It wasn't any different than Japan, really. At least, nothing was different for Aoshi, who hadn't changed at all in the last semester. His father called every Sunday, to make himself look good, and sent money every two weeks. Anything he wanted, he got. You know, other than love and affection, which would now be totally lost on him.

For better or worse, he was coming back to Japan for winter break. It was a Wednesday when he arrived around noon, slightly taken by the jetlag. Dragging his suitcase from baggage claim, he strolled it out into immigration and customs. He looked sullenly at the giant sign, "WELCOME TO JAPAN." Horray.

And things got even better. He had expected to see some dupe of a limo driver with a sign with his name on it to appear and try to make idle conversation. Asking him all these stupid questions like, "Are you glad to be home? Happy to get to see your dad again?" Oh yes, he was overjoyed. But no, no such man stood there. Instead, he jerked to a stop half way out of the sliding glass doors into the open terminal.

"Mother." Worse, it wasn't just his mother. She had that kid with her. Sano… Sanosuke. How old would he be? Aoshi did some math in his head… Seven. Great.

"Oh…" his mother's forehead creased, as Sanosuke ducked behind his mother's legs and glared at the elder boy. "I guess your father didn't tell you?" She took Aoshi's blink to mean that he hadn't. "You'll be staying with me…"

He looked at her in that odd way kids do to adults, that seemed to scream, "I could've guessed that, how stupid do you think I am?" His mother seemed to fidget, not quite sure what to do next. Since her ex-husband wasn't around to yell at for this, she would just have to cope. Her hand rested on the spikes that Aoshi had to deduce were actually hairs on the boys head.

"C'mon Sano-chan… say hello to your brother…" Sano-chan was nudged out by his mother's hand patting his back to bring him out into the open. The younger boy looked like he had some spunk in him, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking over his older brother like he was going to pick a fight.

"Sanosuke," his mother reminded him to behave in that scolding tone. Sano-chan kicked at the ground, as if to kick up some dirt onto Aoshi's shoes - which would have worked, had they not all been standing on carpet. "Sagara Sanosuke…!" The boy seemed to straighten up suddenly, the use of his full name quite alarming and instantaneously suggesting he would be in big trouble if he didn't do what he was told. The boy muttered something that sounded vaguely like a curse, before looking at the floor, to speak out of the corner of his mouth.

"Hey Aoshi…" the small boy groaned out, and his mother promptly tapped him on the head, "Alright alright! BLOODLY HEL-FUCKING-LO AOSHI-NIISAN!" That earned him a swift smack on the back of his head. The boy pouted firmly, after spitting towards Aoshi's feet… His eyebrows knit together as he looked back up at his mother like she had gone plum-loco for no reason *whatsoever*, while he rubbed at the back of his head.

"SAGARA SANOSUKE! LANGUAGE!" Aoshi could only stand on the sidelines as the civility of society seemed to deteriorate before his eyes. Is this what his mother's side had to offer? To hell with those genes… Didn't this kid have a single brain cell to tell him that his "oniisan" could beat him three ways from Thursday? The elder boy started stalking away towards the exit to the parking lot, now tired and disinterested. Eventually, when Sano-chan was in line, their mother followed and led them all back to the car.

'Some vacation,' Aoshi internally grimaced in the front seat of the car, as he tried to drown out his mother yelling at Sano-chan who was singing out every curse word he knew. It was just the little boy's way of hogging the lime light. If he wouldn't risk cracking a smile in front of his mother, he'd reassure the kid that there was nothing to worry about… Sano could have her.

===

Author's Note:

Well that was an Aoshi interlude. ^-^; Because of all the stuff that's been building up into tension you could slice through with a kodachi, I wanted to end on a happy note. (It's like a roller coaster… go up up up… come down down down… go up up up… come down down down… ^_^; Hopefully you'll stick around to get to the end. o.O; could you imagine hopping off in the middle of a ride? … @.@x Orooo…)