Irreversible Sadism (GL) - Chapter 24

Nights spent in a house devoid of sound always feel cold.

Whether it’s summer or winter, the chill that makes me huddle up comes from an unknown source. Even with all the windows tightly shut, the air inside never warms up.

When I turn on the TV or the radio, a little warmth, like that of a lantern, falls into my palms. Hearing someone’s voice makes me feel as if I am part of someone else’s life.

I have never experienced the feeling of “loneliness” that Ruri-chan talks about. Ever since my mother started leaving the house at night, I have been alone. This way of living has already lasted nearly three years. I was fine being alone on New Year’s Eve and Christmas.

I left the living room TV on and returned to my room. After my bath, I listened to the radio while doing my skincare routine. As my palms pressed against my cheeks, I thought about yesterday’s events.

I had invited Ruri-chan to my room, and she had shown me how to comfort myself, and then, I was embraced.

Even though I had finally called Ruri-chan to my room, I ended it without doing anything painful even once. I could have done a little more. If I had been more honest and responded to Ruri-chan’s words with affirmations like “Yeah, that’s right” or “I understand,” perhaps she would have listened to my requests.

Why did I become so stubborn?

I dried my hair and lay down on the bed.

Today, my mother did not come home.

But the food in the refrigerator has increased, so I think she must have returned while I was sleeping.

If I were to talk to my mother, I wonder if I could really speak to her, even though I tried to tell Ruri-chan. I haven’t seen my mother’s face since I was hospitalized.

Just as my mother said, a handrail for my rehabilitation had been installed on the stairs. My mother is kind. She buys me anything for my sake. In this room, there are books and games that my mother bought for me. All of it was to keep me from getting bored.

Even my clothes are all stylish and cute, so I wouldn’t feel embarrassed going outside.

Yet, why does that butterfly hairpin feel so out of place?

It’s not even expensive compared to the other things my mother bought me. I have never been able to throw away such a hairpin. I have even discarded clothes that I could still wear.

There must be some reason for my fixation.

The next evening, I was watching a news program in the living room.

I took out a two-liter bottle of tea from the refrigerator and poured it into a glass. Sitting on the sofa, I rolled the butterfly hairpin in my hand. The rough texture, with bits of glitter, grazed my fingers. As I touched it, I felt like I could vaguely see the outline of something precious trapped in my memories, and I have been holding onto it closely. Yet, I still haven’t reached the identity of this lingering confusion.

On the TV, there was news about someone being stabbed with a knife.

Three people were injured, and one was unconscious. The perpetrator was still on the run, and the ticker displayed the name of the area where I live. Residents in the vicinity were being warned to stay alert.

If I were watching this report with someone, what would I say? “That’s close; I need to be careful not to go out alone at night.” “I wonder if the person who was stabbed is okay.” “Hey, why do such terrible things?” Would such conversations echo in this room filled with cold air?

What would happen if I were stabbed in the stomach with a knife over ten centimeters long? Would I hear the sound of muscle fibers tearing, or would it reach my insides before I could even hear that?

Even from behind, it would be fine. I just want to suddenly drown in a sea of sharp, bloody scents, overwhelmed by shock. Feeling the mechanical coldness within the warmth of flesh, I would experience an aversion that surpasses discomfort as the tip of the blade moves within my insides. Even if I begged to be pulled out and saved, my wishes would not be granted.

With the blade embedded in my body, cradling it in my back and stomach, I would collapse to my knees, spitting bl00d, feeling fear and anger towards the absurdity of it all, and in my weakening breaths, I would feel the fragility of the human body and the fulfillment of succumbing to the violent stimuli from the outside.

…How enviable.

I truly feel sorry for those who have been victimized. If I could, I would want to take their place. I wanted to be the one stabbed instead of them.

Imagining being suddenly stabbed by a passerby walking toward me makes my body heat up.

Jumping from a height? Getting hit by a car? Those are not real. The pain of being stabbed by a human-held knife is more pure than anything else.

There was a sound at the entrance.

I heard the sound of a key turning, so I had a hunch.

But why? At the same time, tension coursed through me.

I stood up and opened the door.

“Oh, M-Mom.”

Even though it was still evening, my mother was wearing the red dress she wore for work as she put the key away in its case. Kicking off her shoes, she noticed me and let out a low “Ah” that fell to the ground.

“Welcome home, Mom.”

I was surprised to hear the bouncy voice I had almost forgotten, emerging from my throat. But it quickly made sense.

That’s right; I had learned this voice and way of speaking to gauge my mother’s mood. With this tone, I wouldn’t create conflict. I could convey that I had no hostility.

“You’re home.”

“Yeah, I came straight home today—”

The moment I rushed toward my mother, I was pierced by a scent I had never smelled before, like some kind of chemical. It felt as if alcohol had been poured directly into my nostrils, the sting resonating deep within my eyes.

The smell was different. Just this alone made her look so much like a different person. Though her appearance was that of my mother, she felt like someone else, and my heart raced with anxiety.

“Hey, Sumi-chan, who’s that?”

As I suppressed the impulse to cough, the door opened, and a man I had never seen before entered the house. He wore sunglasses, so I couldn’t see his face, but the chemical scent was emanating from him as well.

It was very strong; he was clearly drenched in perfume.

“Oh, this is her. Look, right?”

My mother’s mouth mimicked a voice that sounded like a different person. It had an eerie quality, like a parrot speaking human words without changing its expression, and I instinctively took a step back.

The man entered as if it were his own home, taking off his shoes without permission and opening the refrigerator, saying, “There’s cola, can I drink it?” as he already began to drink directly from the bottle.

“M-Mom, who is that?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

I want to talk to my mother.

I don’t understand what the feeling of loneliness represents, but still.

Sometimes, I want her to come home. I want to watch TV together, listen to music together, and create conversations in this house. If I could find that proof of my existence, my proof of being alive, then even with my wings that will never spread, I feel like I could go somewhere.

“Hey, Mom.”

I was smiling, enough to be aware of it. There was nothing strange about it, yet every time I spoke, my defensive instinct emerged, mimicking a smile with a “Hehe.” My mother glared at me. Her gaze conveyed a message: don’t bring any trouble.

“Um, thank you for always preparing meals for me. And for giving me a lot of pocket money… I don’t know what to use it for, so I’m saving it.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, and the other day, we had a sports festival. I participated in the relay, but I fell… But the other kids were really fast, and they won.”

“That’s good.”

My mother was not looking at me but was leaning close to the full-length mirror propped against the entrance, fixing her bangs.

“Um, Mom… sometimes, I want you to come home.”

Our eyes met through the mirror.

The reflection of the parent and child in the inverted world wore mismatched expressions.

“Mom has work too. What would you do if you came home? What’s the point?”

“I don’t know, but…”

“Don’t be a bother to your mother.”

It felt like I had touched an insulator that conducted no electricity. What I had been trying to run toward was severed by a darkness akin to nothingness, leaving me with nowhere to go.

My mother answered the man’s call with a sweet voice. However, her gaze toward me remained consistently cold.

“I have an important matter to attend to now. Until that’s done, can you kill time outside?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t ‘huh’ me. Didn’t you hear? Go out somewhere.”

“But it’s getting dark.”

“I’ve given you plenty of money. You should be able to kill time. Right, don’t come home until nine tonight.”

I wanted to speak, but I felt as if my body had instantly turned to bones. My throat, chest, and head all felt hollow, with only a cold wind blowing through like a cave.

“M-Mom, this!”

The last path was not filled with hope.

Within the completely severed line, there was a faint residue of released current.

I showed my mother the butterfly hairpin I had been holding.

“I found this while cleaning the desk earlier. Do you remember it, Mom?”

If I said I had kept it all this time, she might be put off.

I spread my hands like a flower to show the butterfly.

The blue sparkle I longed for.

The first time I went out with my mother to the botanical garden. It was something she bought for me there.

Something I truly wanted from the bottom of my heart. My treasure.

My proof of being alive.

“Huh? I don’t know anything about that.”

My mother said with a click of her tongue and disappeared into the living room.

Left standing at the entrance, I couldn’t move.

From the brightly lit living room, I could hear the laughter of the unknown man and the voice of the unfamiliar mother.

I shouldn’t be here.

I dashed out of the entrance as if propelled.