"People hide behind masks because they fear their own emptiness, the lack of any refuge. They deceive themselves, believing that lies are a refuge… but each lie opens another crack in that false ceiling they thought they had, until no refuge remains, only ruins where the soul slowly decays."
Hi, I'm Holly, I'm 16 years old, and I study at a regular school. I'm very popular among my friends, but I've never had a true friend.
Is it normal to say that? My life has never really been that good.
I remember that when I was little, my life was a disaster ever since my mom and dad divorced. Everything went wrong.
I remember it as if it were yesterday.
It was all my fault, I've always felt guilty about it.
It's all my fault.
My little brother's life…
It was about ten years ago. My brother Rentaro was 11 years old. Ahh, my brother Rentaro was the best, he always helped me with everything. I was always so foolish compared to him. He was always brave; whenever I got into trouble, he took my hand and saved me. He was my…
HERO!
But that day, they took him…
It was a snowy night. That night, my parents had to leave urgently for work, and I wanted to help them. I told them it was fine, that they could leave me with Rentaro.
But I think we were still too young to be alone at home. Still, my parents decided to trust Rentaro. But…
That day, lightning struck the house, and everything started to catch fire.
I couldn't stop the fire. I tried, I tried, but I was too small. When I realized, the TV had already fallen on top of me… the TV from the second floor. The ceiling tore apart inevitably, but Rentaro pushed me.
And instead of hitting me, it hit him.
I couldn't save him, I wasn't strong enough, I was still too small. Why? Why wasn't I strong enough? Why did it have to hit him? I tried and tried to lift him, but it was useless.
My little brother Rentaro was very scared, but he didn't show it. He held my hand very tightly, very tightly. He told me to escape, that he would be fine.
I started crying and told him I would never, never leave him.
That gave me even more strength. I had called the police, the ambulance, the firefighters, everyone.
Still, no one arrived. It was too late. I felt my little brother stop holding my hand; he was no longer here. He was… he was… dead…
I felt the weight of everything: the air, my body, every part of me. Gradually, my heart cracked.
Suddenly I found myself crying. Tears fell uncontrollably. I looked at my little brother… his body no longer moved. I called him softly, over and over, but he didn't respond. I approached and shook him clumsily, as if he could still wake up. But nothing. His chest was still, too still.
Then I understood, even though I didn't want to accept it: my little brother was dead.
Why? I asked myself over and over. Why not me? Why him? My brother… my brother.
RENTAAROOO!
My tears fell endlessly, soaking the floor. Then I remembered: while looking at that cold, lifeless body—my hero, my brother—all I had longed for and that promise returned to me. He smiled that day, with a numb voice; it still sounded in my head as if it were that beautiful day, and he told me that one day I should be stronger than him. That no matter what happened, I had to move forward.
That memory pierced me. I felt that, for a moment, my heart finally calmed. His voice still rang so clearly… and I felt it: my brother, though dead, wasn't truly gone; he lived in my heart.
That's why I… I… even if my throat broke, even if my legs didn't work, even if the house collapsed on me, I had to keep that promise. I ran. I ran as fast as I could because the house was collapsing, because the fire devoured everything.
And while waiting for my parents to arrive… I couldn't keep crying, I couldn't let myself fall into despair. Because I knew… my brother would never have forgiven me if he saw me drowning in despair. He always smiled, even when tired, even when everything seemed lost. He never left me alone! And now, even if I couldn't hear him, even if his body would never move again… I knew deep in my soul that his strength was pushing me to keep going.
Hours passed. While waiting, the thread of time became infinite, and everything happened senselessly; when I realized it, the police and my parents had arrived. I was bruised and crying nonstop.
At that moment, my parents showed no sign of sadness, but over the following days, they fell into deep, extreme depression. They blamed themselves for his death; they thought it was their fault. But I knew: the blame was actually mine…
The last straw was my grades, very low. My father began blaming my mother for everything and mistreated her; he said it was her fault, that she didn't know how to raise children, that she was responsible for my brother's death. I did nothing but watch, with a face that reflected nothing, mentally, physically, and emotionally destroyed. My grandmother couldn't stand it anymore and took my mother out of that house.
And that's how they divorced.
My mother seemed not to care. Every day she looked happy.
My mom always served me lots of food, every day showing me her love; I even thought she seemed like a different person.
But…
She committed suicide.
I couldn't bear it. Why? Why did this happen?
I didn't understand. I repeated it over and over, and the more I did, the fewer answers I got.
From that moment, I understood everything: in this life, it's about pretending, being a good family, being someone. That's what I thought. Because everyone always pretends. That's the best: pretending.
Yes, that would be fine.
That's excellent.
And when I returned to school, I didn't realize it, but I was already pretending to be someone else. I said any lie to look good: that I was rich, that I had the best family.
I filled myself with lies, lies so sad that only I believed them.
While everyone pretended and pretended, I reached the point of looking in the mirror and not recognizing myself.
I didn't realize, I didn't realize, but my lies had gone too far.
I made anyone feel bad with my lies; I said anything to humiliate them: that they were ugly, stupid, poor.
And so I filled myself with people, my group of fans who believed I was the purest, the best in class, and the smartest.
Everyone loved me.
But I may have overdone it in high school: I almost killed a girl with special symptoms. I didn't know, but that girl suffered from a severe disorder called acute depression. Still, I mocked her with my friends for how she spoke, how she expressed herself, even what she wore. My friends started…
And I went along with it; I didn't want to look bad in front of them.
I remember once we went on a field trip to a river near the school, and my classmates threw her into the water, laughing at everything.
I… laughed too.
She didn't know how to swim, almost drowned. Yet I laughed. "How could someone not know how to swim?" I told myself as I laughed at her stupidity.
She…
Couldn't take it and tried to commit suicide.
They found her at home with an overdose of antidepressants.
Her mother didn't know what she was going through at school and reported the institution and my family for involuntary manslaughter. Everyone in the classroom looked at me badly, didn't hesitate to blame me entirely, even saying I was the one who pushed her into the river.
And that I drove her to attempt suicide. Then, the one they ended up mocking was me. I was the next victim.
My desk.
My locker.
My shoes.
Everything was vandalized, they burned my notebooks and wrote awful things about me.
They said I was a bitch and that I dated older men.
My grandmother, seeing all this, tried to speak to the principal.
But even the school turned its back on me.
And that was…
Because we even mocked the teachers, as I remember.
My grandmother had no choice but to take me out of there.
She took me to another school, I thought everything would change, but some friends from my previous school were there, so they started mocking me again.
Everything repeated.
I had had enough, I wondered: what if I stopped existing? It's the best, yes, it's the best.
I tried to commit suicide, but the rope was too old and I fell off the chair, half-choked.
WHY CAN'T I DO ANYTHING?
EH!?!
At that moment, my grandmother told me.
My father…
The one I had been avoiding all this time…
Was diagnosed with a terminal illness.
He was in the hospital, critical.
I went to see him, and his smile when he saw me was like nothing I had ever seen. I would pay to see it every time I could. He was a sun, that's what I thought when I entered. But it was his smile.
He asked me how school was going and all that. We spent every day together. My father, every time he spoke, I felt immense pain. Still, still… he talked a lot with me, too much to be honest.
The time I spent with my father, every second felt eternal. I will always keep him in my heart; everything felt so slow when I was with him.
I didn't understand, but my father was radiant. My father, whenever he had the chance, apologized, lowering his head. He blamed himself for my mother's death.
But I didn't care. She abandoned me. But he was still here; that was all that mattered.
He started crying and hugged me.
And he said the words I hadn't heard in a long time.
He told me…
I LOVE YOU, DAUGHTER.
And those were his last words…
Everything felt slow, incredibly slow, as I listened to the sound of that machine, the beep indicating death. I couldn't believe it. The doctors tried to move me away to give him electric shocks, to make him react.
But I screamed nonstop: why? Why? Those were his last words. Why, after so long, did I come to see him at this moment? Why didn't we reconcile sooner, instead of at his deathbed?
WHY?! —my voice broke as I waited in the visitors' room.
I received the news.
My father had died…
I felt so alone. I couldn't understand. Why did this happen? I locked myself in my room, not leaving for months. My grandmother felt my sadness and made a decision: we moved to another state to start over.
And so that house wouldn't remind me of the bad things in my life.
And so we tried to start everything from scratch.
I started another school, I wanted to change.
But people don't change that fast. I went along and started doing the same thing: treating people badly. Even if I didn't want to, my body didn't respond. I imagine that happens when you've been doing it for so long—you can't stop quickly.
I continued making people unhappy.
But there was a boy in my class who caught my attention. Tatsuki, a 17-year-old repeater. He didn't care about anyone.
And that began to interest me. But then, if I liked him, why did I start spreading bad things about him? I didn't understand.
But he still didn't care. Whatever he heard, he just laughed and that was it.
He was very interesting. He always ate alone, liked anime, lived alone.
Before I knew it, I had become obsessed with him. I think I liked him.
I even reached the point of inviting a boy to the school roof to humiliate him.
When I arrived at this school, I started practicing jiu-jitsu.
And just to humiliate him, I locked him in a hold. Why did I do it?
My classmates proposed it: to mock that boy, who was trash and disliked by everyone.
That's right. It was Tatsuki, the boy I would humiliate on the school roof. Still, I said yes. Why did I say yes?
I told them it was fine.
Why did I do it? I don't know.
It seems I just wanted attention.
And I started repeating it again, again…
I couldn't stop. When we were on the roof, I began.
But still, I liked Tatsuki, and I said it loudly, as if no one was behind that door, as if we were alone at that moment. I told him.
I told him I liked him. I turned around, signaling that it would be better not to continue.
But when Tatsuki was about to say what he thought…
They came in, those I call friends, and started recording. And I began to transform. I looked at him with hate, with disgust, and said:
—Did you really think someone like me would go out with you? How naive you are. (What am I saying?)
I saw him cry, sad. His light in his eyes disappeared.
And I wanted to stop, I didn't know what I was doing. But then something came out of my mouth that I didn't want to say, like a breeze escaping easily, and I said:
—Kneel! Come on! Apologize for being born. (What are you saying? Stop, please, stop! Why are you saying this?)
—You're trash, hahahaha. (Why? Why can't I stop? Someone save me, someone stop me).
—Come on, what are you waiting for? Come on! (I see, actually… there's no turning back).
I felt the suffocating air, as if I could never stop. And at that exact moment, three beautiful girls entered: one a little gloomy, another very cheerful, and the third seemed sad. But what they had in common was their appearance, their very dark aura. They were more than angry, and, as I realized, one of them kicked me.
Ahh yes, I think her name was Rin or something.
I didn't defend myself.
I deserved it. I'm trash.
How could I do something like that to someone? After kicking me, Rin looked at me as if observing disgusting trash and told me to leave before she lost control. I did. I left, and told everyone to go.
I laughed with my friends, but inside I hated myself.
They left, but I stayed listening to Tatsuki's crying. I realized he had found good people in his life… and that, somehow, made me happy.
And when the bell rang to go home and I arrived at my house, I couldn't hold back the tears.
I HATE MYSELF.
(I hope someone saves me someday… a hero).
Little brother, I miss you…