Lavender | Wakatoshi Ushijima

48 | Fault

Four Days Later

"Mother has always been a cold person, if I'm being honest. She cares about our reputation. She's a busy person who is the backbone of the company, but she's not my backbone. Things became even more tense when I first collapsed at the dinner table when I was a kid, like I told you earlier. My health spiraled for a time and I missed school for tests and treatments."

"We were closer than whatever screwed up family dynamic we have now. She grew colder, more distant. Like she was on edge, but she pushed me to the very brim. Working overtime went from weekly to daily and over the years, a wedge grew between the both of them and I. My father's still a bit tender, our conversations revolve around convincing me to take over the company. He isn't as strict as her. Not as stern as she is." My eyes sting.

"In middle school, she'd always find something to criticize about my work, about my passions, about my naivety, about my clothes. At some point, she stopped. I don't know if she gave up or stopped caring, or maybe she thought I had come to my senses because I stopped reading my poetry to her. She probably thought I'd put my silly little hobby to rest. I never did, I put the hope that she'd ever be proud of me to rest. I stopped showing her my accomplishments that she hadn't asked about unless we had to converse at all." I clench my gown with my fists, momentary anger appears.

"I remember when I was twelve, I made a simple dinner and I ate it alone. I was becoming twenty-five at twelve. I sat on that table humiliated. I had made sure that they'd be home that night. That's when this rage started accumulating, it spread like wildfire. It used to be that I hated the hardness in her eyes, but soon enough it became my own hateful look at the mirror. I swore not to let it happen, but that's what it did to me. I used to be mad at her. I gave into my thoughts and I shifted the blame to me. There had to have been something wrong with me if I'm this unlovable."

"I got off of it like a high-dose drug, I hated myself and it made me work even harder. It drove me beyond my limits, but it grew out of control. I was fourteen when I started to think that way," I say, my voice pitching down in agony.

"By the time I was sixteen, both of my parents started shoving me into the mold of the heir of my family. Constantly reminding me that I had to take over the company at a young age so I can get into its rhythm by the time I'm grown. Making sure I was always dressed modestly, even though I already was, commenting on things I say. Reminding me not to say stupid things if I wanted to be respected. That's all I was to them, a rookie to be trained. I would always comply but I lied. I continued with my writing like time wasn't running out. I continued to joke with my friends and use phrases and metaphors and things that made my speech a bit more interesting. Wasn't I perfect enough already with my grades and manners? Why couldn't I have my own peculiarities? I kept them as a liar and soon enough, it was like I grew into two people."

"They'd find out at some point that I didn't really want to take over. I fooled myself into thinking that I'd drop that godforsaken pen and move on to make them proud. I just couldn't, not when it feels like this family is an endless sea I can't conquer. A family that waits for me to save them, otherwise we'd all be put to shame. I was part of the family when they needed an heir to keep them afloat, not when they wanted a daughter," I sniffle.

"At some point, especially when I met you, I didn't really care for any of it. I kept up with my studies, and I grew to like myself a bit. When you looked at me like I was someone, a valuable friend, I had hope. I had hope that one day they'd accept this meaningless hobby and love me as I am. I had optimism that the future was bright to escape the true reality that roamed around my house. I'll never be accepted, not unless I give them what they want."

"I ran from it all, running with you to the beach, to the comfort of the team, to the joy of being a teenager. I ran, but I wasn't fast enough. You know the rest from there, when she found out." I stop. He stares at my face with a vulnerability I never thought I'd see.