Chapter Text
Mondays always suck. There's no in between, no opposite arguments; if you like Mondays, you should be considered insane. Getting woken up by a stupid alarm or even worse, Kyouka, super early in the fucking morning is always infuriating. It's even worse when you get waken up late and have NO time to get ready before you have to leave at some stupid designated time so you're not late for classes. Even though waking up felt like hell, Zanka knew he still had to do it. He had to go to school, had to put on his people face, had to act a certain way, had to seem happy, had to seem good enough. That was the truth of things, if Zanka wasn't good enough to keep around, good enough to succeed in the slightest, he was nothing. He had to keep his 4.0 GPA just as he for forever now. However, having a 4.0 GPA felt less like an accomplishment and more like a requirement because if he got anything less, then he wasn't trying hard enough and that meant that he wasn't doing his best.
If he wasn't doing his best, then there was no explanation for the exhaustion that clung heavy on his bones, heart, and lungs. There was no reason for him to feel so tired and sad and pressured because he wasn't even preforming the best he could. He needed to be better, he had to if he wanted to make his family proud. His family was that of top preforming students, no one failed any grades, no one had ever had bad grades, no one was ever not enough. Even though he didn't feel like he ever fit into any of the standards set, that didn't mean he didn't have to live up to them. If his older siblings did good, he'd have to do great, if they excelled at a sport, he had to master it. Kyouka was a wrestler, Goka too, that meant that if he wanted a chance to live up to their legacy, he had to wrestle too. It's not like he didn't like wrestling, sure, it was a nice sport, it's just that he wasn't as good as his older siblings. He was good, he didn't lose often, but Kyouka and Goka never lost. He felt awful not being able to live up to their legacy, it was embarrassing. Having a legacy set up for you just to dull it with a mediocrity that's uniquely yours.
Not to mention he was so fucking fat, for someone who's on the slightly smaller side, he sure at a lot and he hated it. 126 lbs or about 57 kg, he was so sick of himself and his eating habits. He felt so guilty after eating, it hurt, creating a sick twisting feeling of disgust in his stomach. He usually didn't eat breakfast and ate small snacks before lunch, which he would eat. He ate dinner, whatever was available, it didn't need to be fancy. His routine continued like that from Monday till Fridays unless he felt extra guilty one week. On the weekends, however, he usually remained in bed or working out rather than intaking food. He ate small things to keep him from passing out while active but other than that, he didn't eat. He made sure to check his weight before Monday, a little satisfied the number had gone down but still not quite enough. He felt like if he was skinnier, people would like him more, he'd fit in, he wouldn't be as big of a fraud, he might be good enough to someone. It was a silly thought though, because he knew deep down, no matter how much weight he lost, he would never ever be good enough.
He had a plan though, to cut back on his disgustingly large eating habits, he would drink water rather than intake food when dealing with the issue of hunger. It wouldn't be a perfect substitute, he was aware of that fact. But, if it meant he had a chance to be lighter, to see the number on the scale go down, he'd risk it. He honestly didn't know what was wrong with him, his brain was so sick with all these horrible thoughts and he knew it wasn't normal. He felt as if he almost wanted to get sicker just for someone to notice he's sick. Not sick in the sense that he's got a fever or he's sneezing, but sick in the sense that he's really not doing okay. That made him feel worse, because what kind of horrible fucking person actually wanted that? He was at least aware enough to know that he wasn't normal and was in a really rough place mentally, he wasn't sure how to get help was the problem. His parents had always tried to reassure him that they'd always be there for him but how many arguments proved that? How many shitty birthdays made him think such? How many times that they forgot he was there helped him feel like they were telling the truth? How many conversations of trying to explain how he felt but it ending in yelling and fighting made him sure?
So, instead of saying anything, he kept it to himself. He put on his best smile for the world, wore his best clothes, did his hair nice, put on makeup to hide his eyes bags, tried to be the perfect son. Not some defect, not Zuka, the girl who had cried herself to sleep for nearly 14 years of her life, praying to a god she didn't believe in, asking why she couldn't have just been a boy. It took time and a lot of fighting but eventually his parents accepted him as a boy, something he thought they'd never do. He wore a binder and it sucked a bit not to be able to get the surgery yet but at least he was more comfortable, more himself this way. He owed his parents that much and he would do whatever it took to repay them. Which is another reason why he didn't burden then with his stupid problems that he honestly was convinced he'd created in his own head because there was no way other people had a part in it. He'd always tried to avoid getting attached enough to even get in such situations but not detached enough to be too lonely. He hated being lonely, he was always by himself as a kid, he didn't want it to be that way as an adult too.
He had a feeling he didn't quite deserve the help anyways, he had always been such a pathetic child. He would whine and cry and beg while his older siblings remained unfazed or completely indifferent to some problems. His thoughts didn't help either, his own subconscious turned against him. He was sure he deserved whatever hell he was in, God wouldn't give him something he didn't deserve, his parents always made that clear. So, instead of constantly burdening everyone else in his own problems, he took it out on his skin. Using a blade he'd gotten from a pencil sharpener he'd dismantled, he decorated his skin in flowering lines of red, some deeper than others, leaving unfortunate scars. He always felt terrible for them, yes, he didn't want anyone to worry about him. He deserved them but he knew that other people might not think so, and while he didn't quite understand why, it was never fun to try and explain it. He felt like a complete fucking loser, he should be better than this, he was a Nijiku for god's sake! He shouldn't feel like a complete shell of something once so full of life, like his entire existence was one big joke and everyone but him was laughing. He'd though about ending things so many times now, he began to scare himself a bit. What if it really was the only way to makes the hollow, sick, disgustingness stop. He just wished that for once, he wouldn't feel like he was forcing everyone to listen to him. He just wanted to be wanted.