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“It’s just a scar, nobody notices it. In our line of work…” So I keep telling myself.
But I notice.
I’ve never had a lot of beard, I only shave it every other day, safe for my mustache. If I don’t, my beard grows everywhere but the scar, making it even more obvious. As if a keloid scar on the cheek was not obvious enough.
I asked Shouta if seeing his cheekbone scar on the mirror made him think of the Nomu. It doesn’t, but being touched on the head, or grabbed by the hair does. I learned to be careful with the way I touch him.
But I cannot avoid seeing my own face. I tried not to care about how I look, it may work for Shouta, but not for me. A “need to control every aspect and each second of your life”, they said. So of course I also need to control how I look. With my hair up, my leather jacket on, my glasses hiding my (father’s) eyes, I’m in control.
Until I’m not.
Until I’m sobbing on the bathroom floor, because I had a flashback so violent I felt the sharp steel on my cheek again. Until I hear those screams again.
“Why do you make me do that? Why do you have to make me do that to you? Do you think I enjoy it?”
Yes, you did.
“If you could just behave like your sister, none of this would happen!”
She behaved so well… but you eventually broke her too.
“What happens at home, stays at home, do you understand?”
I kept your dirty secrets, don’t worry…
I can still hear the sound it made when he tightened the muzzle, adding pressure to my lower jaw and the back of my head. I can still hear the crack of my jaw because he always pushed too far. It was crucial that I don’t cry too much, or I would choke, and he would simply watch with a disgusted look on his face.
It took me years to figure it out… but I don’t actually need to open my mouth to use my quirk. The power I can deploy with a hum is terrifying. At first, I only hummed a song to soothe myself. Then I felt it grow stronger. The bass made even the walls of the room shiver. The metallic pieces started shaking as Voice was getting stronger. Eventually, my mouth opened wide and cracked the muzzle open as if it was made of twigs. My left cheek took the toll, it was deeply cut by the steel that used to imprison it.
I should be proud of this. I wish I could feel this brief feeling of victory again. But all I remember is the look of my father, his shaking pupils, as he whispered “monster”.