"Hurry up, Ritsuka!" Mom yelled at me from the kitchen. "Your friend's birthday is tomorrow, right? Let's bake him a cake!" Her voice was sing-song and cheerful.

I hopped out the shower and pulled on some pants. I walked downstairs and saw her dancing around the kitchen with eggs, milk, cooking oil, and at least five kinds of batter on the counter. "How'd you know it was her birthday?" I asked, conspicuously putting emphasis on the female pronoun. She'd probably been going through my stuff again.

"I just took a peek at your calendar while you were at school… Soubi doesn't seem like a girl's name, Ritsuka." She eyed me suspiciously. It was my fault for lying about something so petty, but it somehow felt safer that way. If her questions started coming, what would I tell her? Oh yeah, Soubi's my boyfriend. He goes to university. He has no qualms about dating a minor. Yeah, we're breaking the law. And then what? Give her a thumbs up? Not a chance.

Thankfully, she let it go. "Vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, banana, or coconut? Some people absolutely despise coconut, but at least it's something new. Plus, I thought it was clever how they put little pieces of dried coconut in the batter instead of just making it coconut flavored, you know?" I waited patiently for her to finish.

"Thanks for the trouble, Mom, but I don't want to make him a cake. We're going out for his birthday." Her mouth dropped. As soon as I realized what I had done, I wanted to kick my own ass for being so stupid. I blundered up and said him and his, confirming mother's suspicions. And of course, she caught my mistake. She was always looking for things that I said, did, or thought that were "un-Ritsuka-like". Because of course, old Ritsuka never lied. Old Ritsuka would never go running around with some guy. After Seimei left, old Ritsuka was replaced with a cheap, faulty imitation. Sometimes I wondered why I even tried.

"You know," she began, face tight. "My Ritsuka would bake a cake for his friend. He would because it would make his mother happy." Her voice had a dangerous edge to it that was somewhere between rational anger and hysteria.

I began backing away. "Okay, Mom. I'll bake it. Just, sometime later, okay?" I wanted to get away. She was drunk. Again.

"No! Do not try to trick me!" She grabbed a knife from the sink behind her, dripping suds all over the linoleum floor. Just my luck that I forgot to finish washing dishes. She inched toward me as she yelled, "I caught you! I CAUGHT YOU! YOU ARE NOT MY RITSUKA!"

She swung the knife like a madwoman, frantic and afraid. A part of me pitied her. I knew, even without the alcohol and medication, her mind wasn't right. She didn't know what to do. Her paranoia was a nearly unsolvable issue. Not to mention she was abused by her parents as well. Perhaps it was the only way she knew how to be. But as she swung the knife and broke the skin, I found sympathy a bit hard to feel.

I prayed for her to miss just once so it would be one less wound for her to tend to, but I knew she wouldn't. At close proximity, she never missed. Some cuts were shallower than others, sure, but the deep ones hurt unmercifully. I found it odd that she never just stabbed me so I could sit and bleed in peace, but that's the way mother is. She'll eat away at me little by little so it hurts more, little by little until there is nothing left. That's my punishment for not being Ritsuka.

She threw the bloody knife elsewhere and yanked me up from where I was on the floor trying to cover up as much bare skin as possible. My arms and chest and neck, everything on my upper body, lacked the protection of clothing. I cursed myself inwardly. It would have taken two more seconds to put on a shirt! But no, I had wanted to hurry as to not displease mother. One would think I'd have learned my lesson by now. Either way, mother will always be displeased. The thought has come once or twice that it's not the booze or the meds or the mental instability that makes her hate me, it's me. Who I am, what I do, the things I say, everything about me is the object of her discontent. I knew it was true, but whenever such a thought made its way to the surface of my mind, I forced it back down.

She threw me against the counter, my ribs giving a slight crack. She pushed me against the oven, my lower back hitting the handle hard enough to knock the wind out of me. I fell to the floor in a bundle of cut and bruised flesh, hugging myself tight. My wheezing was a plee to the oxygen around me to grace my lungs once again. She kicked me, screaming "Give him back! Give him back!" I didn't know whether she was talking about Seimei or Ritsuka until she, with an especially hard kick, yelled, "Who are you! Where did you hide my Ritsuka?!" Her voice broke when she said my name, desperation making her fury weaker and sharper simultaneously.

Another kick, this one connecting with my ribs, and she passed out from exhaustion and stress. Just like that. I had made her that upset, I had gotten her blood pressure that high until her suffering brain decided it was too much and shut down. Only then did I begin to cry.

The sobs shook my body, forcing it to feel every sore that was inflicted. That didn't hurt nearly as much as my heart did, though. Who are you, she had said. I wanted to ask her the same thing! Who was I to her? What was I to her? A burden. An affliction. Certainly not a son. For me, when Seimei died, I lost a big brother and gained a psychopathic mother. For her, she had lost two sons and gained a stranger. Not only did she not love me, she didn't even acknowledge my identity and gods did it hurt.

I got up and limped upstairs to wash and tend to my wounds. I had to make haste because I had no clue when mother was going to wake up again. I rinsed out my cuts with hot water. They still bled freely. My arms were stiff, making it nearly impossible to apply bandages. I couldn't reach my back at all, and there was a gash there that could not go unmended.

Reluctantly, I pulled over a shirt, got my keys, and walked to Soubi's apartment. I hoped he wouldn't mind.

By the time I got there I was shivering and shaking with cold. I laughed bitterly. She must've hit me in the head, too. Why on earth didn't I bring a sweater?

Soubi's friend opened the door and greeted me. Well, started to at least, until he cut off with a "God, kid. Come on in." He shook his head in a what's-this-world-coming-to way. He called for Soubi.

I walked to his room and sat on his bed. He walked out of the bathroom with bandages and this bubbly stuff that stings like hell when he puts it on my skin. Peroxide or something.

After a good ten minutes of treating me, he still hadn't said a word. His face was too serious. It was making me so nervous! I wanted to apologize, although I wasn't sure for what, and it's not like you can say things like that out of the blue. An apology would seem out of place. I didn't want him angry at me too. He would probably yell at me for getting myself into trouble again. I did not want to be yelled at. Not again. My ears still rang with my mother's voice.

I opened my mouth to speak, hoping to quiet him before he got the chance to scream at me. I didn't mind a misplaced apology. "Soubi, I'm—"I stopped short as he got up and knelt in front of me. I tried not to exclaim as he fumbled with my pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them. He beckoned for me to stand, and pulled them down to my ankles.

"Soubi…" I began. He stood and got something from his drawer then turned off the lights.

I could only see his silhouette and hear his footsteps as he shuffled towards me. "Say something," I ordered. He just smiled and held me close, kissing me softly, making sure his touches were light. I could hardly breathe; he was being so gentle. I could feel my skin wanting to jump up, make real contact. His fingers ghosted over me, over every scar and bruise and—

"Soubi!" I jerked away, falling back on the bed. He jumped too, startled by my outburst. I blushed. "Sorry, overreaction." I rubbed the bruise on my back where he had accidentally pressed. He simply smiled in relief, holding what he took out the drawer and pulling it over my head. One of his shirts. I raised my arms to put them through the sleeves, and lifted up so he could straighten it over my lap.

I lied beside him under the covers. "Are you tired?" he asked, wrapping his arms around my bare waist. I nodded. The clock read 11:47 pm.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "Do you want me to stay up until midnight? So I can wish you happy birthday?" Even as I said this, I imagined thirteen more minutes of consciousness. It seemed like an eternity.

He chuckled at my reluctance, saying "No, no. You can rest. The day will be there when you wake up." I nodded again, feeling myself slip into sleep. "Ritsuka," he whispered softly, "I love you…"

XXX

I woke up with a start and a headache. My body was stiff. I woke up alone. I considered calling out his name, but abruptly decided against it. I could hear him in the kitchen.

I lied back in bed, closing my eyes. Being alone in the silence is never a good thing with me. All I do is think, think, think. What's wrong with me! I've gotten over my fear of disappearing. The people around me have more than verified my existence. I've gotten over my troubles concerning the love of others; it feels good in a way, the one thing that doesn't hurt too much. But the anxieties that come with loving someone? It's like constantly being on pins and needles.

Perhaps it was the significance of waking up alone. I was with him last night; I know I was. I could practically still feel the warmth, the security. I wanted to call out his name. I wanted him near me and nowhere else. Even though I've grown since we met, I'm still the bratty Ritsuka I was in grade 6, starving for his attention.

I slid out of bed, taking half the covers with me, my head pounding. I brushed my teeth and washed my face mechanically, smoothed out my hair and ears. I tried not to think about the bandage on my face where mother had thrown a well-aimed knife. Nothing big like a butcher's or a bread knife, not even as big as a butter knife. Paring knife, I think. Whatever it's called, it sliced through my skin like it was air. I remembered after she "accidentally" did that, she tried putting a Band-Aid on it. I usually protest such things. Mother likes putting the adhesive portion of them directly over the wound so that when I take it off, it reopens and begins to bleed. I exhaled.

"You're up," I heard Soubi say. He came to stand by me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I noted with pride that I grew taller. He no longer had to bend over so much to hug me, and his chin could rest on my head without strain. He set his head on mine, right between my ears, sliding cold hands underneath the shirt to stroke my tail.

"Soubi! Cut it out, I'm not wearing pants!" I exclaimed at the gesture, blushing furiously. He simply chuckled, still holding me close.

"I noticed," he smiled, running his hands down the entire length of my tail as I swung it back and forth in his hands subconsciously. He chuckled as I hissed and swatted warningly at a hand trailing up my inner thigh.

To set the record straight, people don't usually touch another's ears and tail. It is just bad manners, like grabbing a woman's breasts without permission. Ears and tails are intimate, a visible secret between you and yourself, but Soubi doesn't care. An adult wouldn't understand, especially one like him who had lost his ears so long ago. Regardless, I let his hands roam wherever they liked. Well, not wherever wherever.

"Hey," I said quietly as he trailed hot kisses down my neck. I turned, asking what time it was, trying to get a better look at the clock and– "Soubi! YOU IDIOT!" He drew back and followed my eyes to the clock. It read 8:17. PM. "Why didn't you wake me up, baka!"

"Oh, that. " He leaned on the doorframe calmly and lit a cigarette. "You were just so cute and peaceful-looking. I couldn't wake you up. Plus, the party starts at nine. You're fine."

I was slightly grateful he let me sleep in. My sores did feel quite a deal better. Besides the awful headache, I felt much better. Rested. Wait, what? "Party?"

He nodded. "Kio is throwing me a party. Where did you think we were going?"

Immediately I felt foolish. I'd thought that Soubi and I were going somewhere alone. I suppose the concept of Soubi hanging out with friends wasn't settled in just yet. I supposed friends were necessary in a way, for regular people. Soubi was the farthest from ordinary, though. You're all I need, he would say. Well, whatever.

"Ritsuka," he said, looking at me sideways. "What are you going to wear?"

I hated unnecessary questions. "Well, not this," I responded, sore and irritated. I rummaged through his medicine cabinet to find aspirin, then took three, swallowing them dry. "I'm going home to get something to wear," I said, pulling on yesterday's blood-stained jeans. "Don't come."