Portraits of our dreams (Hashirama x Madara)

16. Instinct to kill (Hashirama)

I hid my face in my hands and sunk down ton my knees in the middle of the apartment, just as Madara had done. Why? Out of all instances we could have met out and about, why did it have to be when I met him?

At the same time, I couldn't help but also be angered with Madara. Did he really have so little faith in me that he couldn't believe there was an explanation? I tried to chastise myself; Madara had been through a lot, so the amount of trust he had already shown me was formidable. But I couldn't. Not entirely. I had desired for him to at least wait for me to explain.

I would have told him as soon as he came home, anyway. Explain the situation, that his ex had seduced me and never told me he was already taken. Apologise for being so naive that I didn't understand the reason why he never invited me to his place. Yet, it had to happen like this.

I cursed the world for making this my fate, and was just about to make myself a cup of tea as if that would help, when something caught my eye. A photography magazine I got in the mail every month. I had only cast a glance, but in the corner of its cover was a photo I recognised.

And I did something I never, ever did. I spoke out loud when I was alone. 

"What the actual fuck?"

I turned the pages until I came to the double spread with my photos of Madara and his injuries from the abuse. But the worst part wasn't that his injuries were exposed. The worst part was that it wasn't my name that was on them. Not because of the stealth; I didn't give a fuck about that at this point. But because the name that was there in my place was the one of my friend the studio owner...

And his address was printed as well. 

Where are you going?

To stay with a friend.

A friend with his address visible right there in a photography magazine.

A photography magazine he probably kept his eyes on, hoping for an opportunity like this.

"Shit!" I screamed.

And I ran.

I took the car.

I had always been a slow driver. Madara used to tease me for it endlessly, but now, I drove like a madman.

I tried to calm myself down.

What are the odds, really? I thought. First of all, he might not even read the magazine. And even if he does, he might not have read it yet. And even if he has, he might not go there in search of Madara. And even if he does, Madara might not be there but with another friend. And even if he is, he would never open the door. And even if he would...

And so on. 

But when I parked my car outside the studio, all colour drained from the world as I saw his Tesla parked outside.

I screamed straight out.

I would have no memory of getting out of my car, of running through the warehouse where the studio was located, of running up the stairs and noticing the door to the studio being locked...

But I would remember the terrible sounds of violence that came from inside of it for the rest of my life.

I didn't hesitate. I broke in with such ease, having underestimated my own strength and overestimated the one of the door, I almost fell over. And the scene I came over was the worst thing I had ever seen, lightyears worse than when I had seen Madara bruised.