Chapter Text
Another day.
Another excruciatingly, painfully monotonous day.
I've been pushing this lifestyle for 3 years now.
I'm currently 24 with no plan in life.
It's exhausting despite the lack of variety.
"I'm home," I kicked off my shoes as I called out to my family.
"Ah, you're home Hitori!" my father looked up from his plate.
"Come and eat with us,"
My parents only remind me of my downfall. About how much they pity me, letting me stay just because I'm their child.
I've always been a failure after all, even at my peak with Kessoku Band. I've only plummeted deeper.
I sold my guitar as I lost passion for it when KB parted ways, I wouldn't have been able to move on anyway considering I was left bedridden for longer than I could remember. I feel the silence broke both my physical and mental health—not that I was doing good physically either.
I was never one to protest—nor to initiate, but the day we decided I was shattered.
I shouted. The one thing that pushed us forward—gone! How could they just drop it like that?
It was probably the loudest I had ever been, looking back now, I was being selfish.
But even so, I don't remember anything from these past three years apart from the disband.
And getting employed.
Futari is the only one who can carry the family legacy—I'm a lost cause.
By this time, I've probably forgotten and lost my skill in guitar. My one talent—now I have nothing to redeem myself with.
I haven't tried—though I'd probably fumble, I've already forgotten most of the chords.
"Hitori?" My mother waved her hand infront of me concerned.
I stumbled backwards slightly with a little gasp escaping my mouth.
"Ah—I'm sorry," I quickly composed myself as I sat myself down.
I put some food on my plate.
I haven't eaten a proper meal in a while now, I've been trying to stay at work for as long as I can. I have nothing else to do otherwise.
I've been living off instant noodles and energy drinks for around 2 years ever since I got a job.
My parents have never confronted me about this, I'm assuming they think I'm working hard to pay off the money I owe for living here, more importantly being worthless.
Apparently, my face is always sad, pissed or both—somehow. Not that I was aware.
My channel—guitarhero, has been inactive. I never made a video or even a post about quitting but it seems people found out through the disbandment.
Kessoku band had a moderate fanbase at the time, news about the disbandment online was solely our fans.
I had received a lot of hate comments, as well threats.
The news died out a long time ago, obviously I'm not getting those anymore.
The weeks—or months I spent bedridden, I didn't even bother to check my phone, when I finally did, I was left bedridden once again.
I couldn't bare the insults, the threats, the hate. I swear I was living my worst nightmare.
The food I'm eating tastes great—yet I can't bring myself to take another bite.
The conversation blurred in my eyes as I couldn't stop thinking.
My parents have offered emotional help multiple times.
What is there to rant about? I don't think there's anything that can fix me. I've fallen deep.
I picked up my unfinished plate and gave my leftovers to Jimihen.
I walked upstairs—passing my sister's room.
Futari is 13 now, her grades are great and she's an expert at socialising.
I hate to be that person, but I'm jealous.
A deep, black jealousy.
Of course, I love my sister with all my heart. Even if I haven't moved from her family hierarchy, infact—I might have gone lower.
I don't spend a lot of time with her, I'm not smart and can't help with homework, neither can I help with mental stuff or advice.
I don't play guitar anymore, so we can't even bond through that.
She's worried about me as well, occasionally walking into my room just to say goodnight.
I wonder if she's also disappointed in me, as an influence—a sister.
Ah, no need to wonder.
I really am useless aren't I?
I continued walking towards my room.
As I sat on my closet floor, I wondered what I even wanted to do.
Just thinking whilst letting the entire world blur alone has already occupied hours upon hours of my days.
This was the place I composed our songs in.
Why can't I move on?
I've seen Kita's posts, she's doing great.
Nijika has formed a new band. I dont know about Ryo, but I'm sure she hasn't stooped down this low.
My co-workers find me hard to handle, since I barely speak and becuase of my expression.
History is repeating itself...
I still have my old lyric notebook, something I couldn't bring myself to throw away.
I reached for the notebook—untouched for years.
Without thinking, I grabbed a pen.
I have never tried venting before, I don't know what I'm going to write.
Maybe... A goodbye.
I started, almost impulsively as if I had been dying to write this since forever.
It was raw, I cringed at it—yet it was genuine.
I shed a tear.
Then more.
And more.
I kept writing.
One page.
Two pages.
Three.
More and more words of shame and self-hatred came—but suddenly-
The pen slipped from my hand.
I was walking to the kitchen.
A knife? What could I possibly do with a knife at this hour?
I walked back up to my room.
What am I doing?
I held it up to my neck.
"I'm sorry." I whispered.
I held the knife steadily, waiting for the pain, the,
Relief..?
I braced for impact, waiting for the immense pain I'd have to endure.
My shoulders tensed as I slowly put more pressure on to the knife.
Until-
THUD.