The two young girls sat seated on their knees, oversized grins pushing pudgy cheeks up towards widened eyes; glistening with a short of enchantment. That pair of large, cupped, calloused hands their gazes were locked on came down over the middle of the table, waiting for a moment before opening up and releasing a small, furry white creature onto the marble surface.

The children gasped, captured in a blossom of awe and enchantment, shrieking in tandem, in delight.

That brought a smile to the weary woman's lips as well.

"Mairu, Kururi... Can you say 'gerbil'～?"

The twin girls, toddlers, beamed and did their best to mimic sound of the word.

The woman smiled, tucking a stray piece of graying hair behind her ear.

"Happy birthday, you two. Wait here while I go and get the camera." She dipped her head, before turning on her heel and slipping out of the room to fetch said object.

Neither of the two girls seemed to mind all too much. They were fascinated by the little animal she'd placed on the table for the two of them.

It's small, round red eyes, tiny whiskers, the way it's nose twitched slightly as it looked around, the way that it's little claws scratched on the marble table as it searched for purchase while it scuttled about.

One of the two girls reached out slowly for the animal's back, with the intention of touching it, of feeling it's fur. Only, another hand scooped the animal up and pulled it away before she could quite reach.

"Iza-nii!" The girl whined, her hands instead clutching at the denim fabric of the third child's pants.

He was older than the twins, quite a bit older, having already reached adolescence. To say, whereas the girls were aged at five, their eldest sibling was thirteen.

Their older brother had wandered into the vicinity of the room, alerted by the twins' earlier shrieking. And his attention had caught onto their gerbil.

The boy ignored the toddler, cocking his head slightly to the side in curiosity sparked by the furry creature.

"Iza-nii let me hold her. She is not yours."

The boy only bumped the child away with his hip and snapped an abrupt, "Quiet, Mairu."

The girl folded her arms over her chest and pouted, glaring up at the older child over her oversized glasses.

"Izaya-nii is a big jerk. We hate Iza-nii."

The boy, Izaya, simply dismissed this and focused his attention on the gerbil. He was used to that...

Here was the loose thread in the family's mask of perfection and content. Pull it and everything falls apart, or something to that effect.

Thirteen year old Orihara Izaya.

Perhaps even more unsettling would be that the boy himself knew exactly what his role was to the rest of the family. But he wasn't stupid, either. Nor was he ignorant to the system in place within the household.

He was a ticking ninety-eight pound time-bomb in a Middle School sweatshirt, sneakers and jeans.

He'd skipped over a state of bottled rage and spite entirely.

No, Izaya was much too calm. Much too intelligent for that.

Whatever was inside of him now was not fire or flames but something black, sludge-like and poisonous, and that pair of rust colored heavy-lidded eyes and the thin, flat line of his mouth could conceal that perfectly.

The boy had, however, gone through a phase of regret and longing.

"Maybe if they had bothered with me like they try to with the girls then maybe I wouldn't be this way. Maybe I'd be oblivious and happy-go-lucky like the other kids my age."

Things like that.

But Izaya had been granted a rather rude awakening to the cruelty of the world, and of course he had learned to accept that.

At thirteen years old, he was an organized, logical lunatic.

He'd learned how to fend for himself.

All of... this, and so much more, was a result of his forced independence.

Izaya considered himself to be an orphan.

As his parents had (essentially) abandoned him, he'd been reared by his grandparents in the setting of their household.

They were not particularly warm people, and strict as they were could not satisfy a desperate, almost unhealthy need to be praised and acknowledged.

There was always something he needed to improve. For the longest time his goals centered around achieving perfection simply so he could be congratulated and awards with...

Well. From his grandparents, he did not know. That motivation was no longer a driving force, anyway.

As a result, he was a top mark honor student. Academics were no problem for him. Any skill he thought he could be praised for he did his best to master.

But he was still only a child.

A child, but intelligent enough to know when something was pointless.

He felt relatively numb.

When his sisters were born, all of the sudden things started to change.

Whereas his parents were still too 'busy' to bother providing proper house and affection for the trio of offspring; now they stopped by the home of Izaya's Father's parents on holidays and birthdays, fawning over the newborn twins and...

Not him.

And that, perhaps, was enough to break the young third-grade Orihara's heart. Now he did not understand.

What could he have done wrong...?

He'd been trying so hard...!

Was it his gender...?

He tried to act more feminine. He pretended his name was 'Kanra.' He put on Mother's pearls and heels and was reprimanded.

Was it his age now...?

He tried to act more childish.

He was punished for throwing a fit at the marketplace and forced to scrub the mattress clean after deliberately soiling it in his sleep.

The boy was so willing to throw away the very essence of his personality just to receive a little attention in return. Any kind of attention. He just wanted his existence to be acknowledged. Just a simple 'Good job, son' or 'Nice work on the dishes, Iza-kun'.

At this stage in his life he was introduced to Grandfather's belt.

Well, they were a traditional Japanese family, after all.

He wore pants to school to cover up the lashes on his legs.

There was only so much rejection and neglect a poor little boy's heart could take.

So he gave up.

At the age of ten Izaya Orihara took Grandfather's spare gas tank and Grandmother's candlestick to his bed.

Of course... Grandfather caught it before the smoke purged into his tiny lungs.

And... Instead of getting the help he needed, he was lashed again.

And the incident was swept under the rug and treated as if it never happened.

He would never be loved.

He would never be appreciated.

How does a child cope with that?

By insisting to love anyone anyway.

And by showing them what he was capable of.

If they couldn't find it in their hearts to appreciate him then he would use his intelligence to manipulate and twist them into worshipping him.

Their pain was a small price to pay for his emptiness.

Father, Father, tell me where have you been?

It's been hell not having you here.

I've been missing you so bad.

And you don't seem to care.

When I go to sleep at night, you're not there.

When I go to sleep at night, do you care?

Why are you walking away?

Was it something I did?

Did I make a mistake? 'Cause I'm trying to deal with the pain.

I don't understand this.

Is this how it is?

I will try to understand!

Is this what you call a family?

That was the day the boy's heart turned black and twisted inside-out.

He would never grow up.

He'd remain a child forever.

An empty child.

For a split second you could see all of the turmoil surface in the boy's rusty eyes as he stared down at that gerbil.

The animal in his hand was calm, as was he. It's small paws clutched at his hand, tiny claws tickling the skin. It's ruby red eyes staring up at him. Docile.

Trusting.

His sister's birthday present.

From his mother and father.

The mother and father who abandoned him.

Who turned their backs when he needed them.

His sisters, who they spoiled.

Izaya touched the top of the animal's head gently, stroking it with the pads of his fingers, his other hand supporting the creature's body. The gerbil's eyes closed slowly, then reopened. He could feel the animal breathing, softly. It's little heart beating.

Izaya smiled.

And he heaved the gerbil against the wall as hard as he could.

The animal screamed. So did his sisters.

The gerbil fell to the hardwood floor, writhing and squirming in distress, broken, in pain, trying to get up on its feet, but unable to find purchase on the slick floor.

The boy's sneaker came down on the animal's head, there was a sickening squelching and a crunch.

Izaya quickly scooped the gerbil back up off the floor and thrust it in his sister's arms.

His voice was delighted and innocent, if a little excitable. But childish.

"He you go Mairu! Here's your gerbil! Here she is!"

Both twins stared at the boy in complete horror, tears welling in their eyes, faces turning read, before beginning to screech and scream for "MOMMY! MOMMY!"

Izaya grinned.

The way his sisters reacted, the expression on their faces, brought him...

Pleasure.

Pleasure and sick fascination.

He loved his sisters so much.

Mother came running back into the room, dropping the camera somewhere along the way.

Both young girls clung to her. Sobbing, screeching, traumatized by the image of their pet, now lying on the floor, still.

Head crushed. Blood pooling onto Grandmother's hardwood floor.

Mother grabbed the boy by his shoulders, shaking him roughly, just as distraught as the twins.

Screaming at him, the culprit, tears running down her face.

His smile gave it away. He didn't care.

She was so shocked. How could he behave in such a way?

She drew her hand across the boy's cheek, trying to get rid of that god awful smile, but she only made it spread wider across his face.

"YOU! WHAT DID YOU DO?! WHAT DID YOU DO?! HOW COULD YOU?!"

He smiled calmly, and looked his mother straight in the eyes.

"You tell me," He replied.

"You tell me."

((Lyrics included in BOLD are from Sleeping With Siren's "Trophy Father's Trophy Son."))