One night was all it took for Takara's life to fall apart. So much was taken away that one fateful night sixteen years ago. Her voice, her memories, her home and her abusive father...some things she was glad to see taken away.
Years later at the ag...
TW: ⚠️childhood trauma/abuse. You have been warned. ⚠️
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"Daddy please stop! I'm sorry!" I scream as he continues to beat me with a baseball bat.
I'm curled up into a tight ball and trying to protect my head. Suddenly I hear my brother scream and I look up to see him being held back by my mother in the corner. My father notices me looking up and hits dead center on my head. Dots are swirling in front of my eyes as my face hits the ground. Ringing and then a clear bang. Silence.
🌃🌃🌃⛩🌃🌃🌃
I practically jump out of bed after I awaken. Satoru startles beside me as he sees me hyperventilating and sobbing.
"Are you ok? What happened?" He gently asks as I cling onto him; still reliving the memory of my father's final moments. Satoru reaches over and turns on the lamp at his bedside table, "Look at me. Look at me, Takara. It was just a dream. Whatever it was, it's not real."
I slowly begin to calm down in his arms; taking slow calming breaths as I regain my composure. I avoid looking at him and sign, I'm sorry you saw that.
"Takara, is that why you don't like sleeping alone?"
I simply nod.
"Let's go get some tea and mochi. Would you like to watch a movie or something?" He asks as he gets out of bed and offers me his hand. "You don't have to explain anything to me, but I refuse to leave you alone until you feel safe again."
I hesitantly take his large hand in mine as he lightly tugs me out of bed. He leads me downstairs and puts the kettle on as he grabs mochi from the fridge. He sits down across from me and yawns.
You said I didn't have to explain...but I want to. But if that's not something you want to listen to, I completely understand. After all I shouldn't be dumping my trauma on you.
He suddenly grabs my hands and forces me to look at him, "If talking about it will help you, then do so."
I take back my hands and begin to explain, Do you know why I'm mute?
"I kinda assumed it was childhood trauma."
Technically it is. But I suffer from a condition called Dysarthria and my father is the reason why I have it. People can get Dysarthria from head trauma or neurological damage. It greatly affects the way I pronounce words and whenever I tried to talk after the night my father was killed, it would always come out wrong or unintelligible. So I learned sign language in order to communicate with others. I'm so sorry you had to witness me so out of it and now I'm just unloading so much emotional baggage onto you.
