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He felt the mask slipping.
Every once and a while he’d notice it slip and fall, emotions that were too raw and too real showing openly. It made him feel the urge to frantically grab them all, throw them in a box and lock them away. No one needs to see it all. No one needs to know the depths of darkness inside, the depths of pain, the depths of bitterness. No one needs to hear it and no one really would want to, would they?
They could see a pretty little box instead, with a bow tied on top; a masquerade mask with sparkles to hide the blood underneath, a decorated house to hide the cellar full of bodies. They could see what he wanted them to see; perfectly crafted like a sculpture, perfectly written like a poem, perfect- nothing is perfect really, and yet he’d make them think he was.
He was strong, he was admired, he was invincible. There was no room for something weak. There was no way he could break the facade, let the mask crack and show something ugly and depressing; something like emotions.
It was hypocritical too; he hated being hypocritical but his insecurities made him hypocritical. He truly admired people who could be open with their emotions, who could speak with their heart and inspire people, but he felt like his emotions were weak and tried with all he had to hide them.
He didn’t understand why people looked up to him anyway. He felt like something ugly; something to be locked away and avoided. He felt like he wasn’t enough for anyone, he wasn’t enough for himself, he wasn’t enough to do anything that would make a change. He wanted to make a change, but it really felt impossible.
He’d break down in corners alone, in bathrooms, in notebooks he’d burn, in words that would sound completely normal to most people and he didn’t expect others to notice as off, but it wasn’t normal, was it? Some things he would say were off.
It didn’t matter anyway, everything that's important, everything that you trust and care for will leave. So why bother opening up at all.
Loneliness hurt , but he’d never admit it to the people who left. Some people were pulled away by the universe and others left by choice. He’d never ask someone to stay, he’d never tell them he was hurting- although if they chose to leave he’d want to know why . Why were they ruining something that could be a good relationship? It was illogical and more importantly, it left his chest with a gaping hole. He’d try to fill it; over and over with whatever means he could, but nothing really could do it. Nothing could fix lonliness. Isolation. It ate at you, like a parasite.
First it ate your empathy. He didn’t even notice the fact. Somehow shooting people felt like nothing. He knew these people, he knew their faces, he knew their voices, he understood the words they said but when they ceased talking for the final time, he felt nothing.
Then it ate your humanity. Was he even human anymore? Sometimes he didn’t feel like a human. He felt hollow, like this wasn’t real at all. What did it feel like to live the life of a human being? What was it like to live innocently; to love another person, to walk home holding hands, to bicker over where to eat? What was it like to live the mundane life; with a dog and a little house? Did he want that? Would he have? It felt so empty, he felt so empty and tired. If he had those things, would he still feel this way?
Your sanity slowly would be eaten away too. Sometimes he couldn’t focus; sometimes he’d talk to himself for hours, living a life he didn’t have and probably never would have. There were times when he’d zone out for hours unsure of what to do for a day, wasting a whole day thinking of what to do. That wasn’t too bad, compared to the days he’d snap and everything felt like it was crumbling in on him. His skin felt too tight, his blood felt too hot, he couldn’t focus on anything but how much he wanted to die . Why was he like this? He wasn’t even miserable. He just was.
Your very essence depends on others; while you create yourself and decide how to present yourself. If you never interact with others, if others don’t perceive you… How can you be… you? Does something exist if no one else sees it? Do you even exist if no one else knows you are around?
Even misery loves company, so how could isolation do someone any good?
When Mikey saw him again, it almost felt like a curse. Why did he even come back? It felt like a sucker punch to the gut. It felt . He felt something and it didn’t feel good. Something about Takemichi had always made Mikey feel; as if the glass jar that was his existence suddenly started to fill up with light, as if the person standing in front of him had hand picked the stars and filled the jar with them. It was painful.
Part of him though, felt like he was being put back together. It felt like the earth was shifting back into place.
It was the backlash after years of being lost and getting so used to the feeling you weren’t sure you even wanted to be found anymore. Maybe if it were a few years earlier.
“Takemitchy,” Gentle words felt like sandpaper on his lips and his ears, foreign. He wanted to reach out, to run and find comfort in this person he felt he could be open with, but comfort wasn’t something he deserved anymore.
“I can change the past! I can start all over again!” The words sounded broken. Mikey wasn’t sure what emotion in the cocktail of things swirling around in his psyche he should feel. He felt guilty, he felt hopeful, and selfishly he was… content to know Takemichi really cared enough to cry for him.