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You've got the devil on your shoulder.
Kazuichi tried so hard…so very very hard to not think about it. Think about her. But he wasn’t exactly an expert on this. On how to deal with this. It didn’t help he tended to avoid therapy, help, or even the fact that he needed either. Sometimes the thoughts of her consumed him, took over his very being. And he was back there, back then.
He was always alone when it happened, too. So it wasn’t like he could turn to anyone for help. Even if he wanted to.
You better shut your mouth just like I told ya.
He’d deal with it of course, the memories and images and flickers of that smile, that laugh, those words like honey in his ears. The bodies and the blood and the destruction laid out before him as if he was living it all over again. But she was always there to tell him it was alright, he was doing good, she cared, she loved him. He was important to her. He 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 to her.
You've been controlling me through fiction, it's obvious.
Of course those were all lies, she spoke to him, to keep him going, moving, working for her her her her 𝘩𝘦𝘳. She was his everything. His entire world. Alpha and omega. She made certain of that. Isolated him from everyone and everything in order to make sure he was focused solely on her and her mission alone, free of all distractions. He was hooked on her, like a drug. He needed her more than anything. She was his savior, his hero. The only one he saw that truly (in his distorted, broken mind) cared about him.
I've got to break you like a bad addiction.
Even still, he thought about her sometimes in that way, forgot himself. Got lost in the thought of her. Of that twisted, broken ideal she’d fed into his mind all those years ago. She had become his world, and he couldn’t help himself from falling into the hole she had made for him.
Now I can't say no, I'm losing control!
But the memories of everything attached to her, to the things she had him do, to what she’d turned him into, lingered. He was her project, her toy, her plaything. Destruction was all that followed in her wake.
I'm having bad dreams...
He woke up in another cold sweat, a scream dying out on his lips as he clutched at his own arms, nails digging into flesh as he trembled. He had…tried to sleep. For once. It was a mistake. He regretted it. The attempt. But everyone insisted he sleep, and take care of himself. He grimaced, swiping at the tears that had escaped sometime during his fitful rest. More replaced them. He didn’t want to bother anyone. Not at this hour…as he checked the time. Yeah. It was late…
And nothing you can do will keep the bad things-
He took a deep, shuddering breath, more swiping at tears. Did he bother trying to fall back asleep? He thought about it, thought of the images and flickers that followed and accompanied. No. No he didn’t want that. He threw the covers aside, sticky with his own sweat. Stood up on unsteady legs. He wouldn’t be sleeping anymore tonight.
Away from me until I fall asleep, bad dreams.
Though he knew that not sleeping didn’t always prevent the images and thoughts and nightmares from following. Sometimes they stuck with him, even into the waking world. Images and flashbacks and sights and sounds and smells of another time. Hallucinations and reminders of her. Of everything she’d done to him, to them. Of everything he’d done because of her, for her, in her name, for her cause.
The foundation had been trying to help with medications and therapy and all of that. Of which he was…slowly growing accustomed to. He still frequently avoided it if possible but…he was trying to do better. Even still, it all haunted him, and his distrust and paranoia made it all the more difficult.
Not to mention the guilt. He could hardly look at them, face them, knowing the things he had done.
Despite your good intentions,
No. He was a monster, and he didn’t deserve their kindness. That was the consensus he had come to. A terrorist wasn’t even the beginning of the awfulness he considered himself. All because of a woman with twintails and a cause.
That girl is like an architect
And I am just the new invention
He was still hers, really. He always would be. She lived rent free in his head, and he wasn’t sure he could ever escape her. Hell, he’d been caught on the Foundation cameras talking to apparently nobody. In his mind, he was still speaking to a dead woman.
I am just the new invention
Junko Enoshima owned him. And he didn’t deserve anyone better. The others had made that very clear, in their treatment of him, their isolation and distancing of him. He was unwanted. Unneeded. He was exhausting to deal with. He was tired of even himself. He was a lost cause. He was still alone. Always would be. Except for her. She would never leave him. After all, he was her creation.
I am just the new invention.