"DON’T HIT !"
"PLEASE, MOM, STOP!"
"WHY CAN’T YOU DIE? JUST DIE!" My mother was beating with an iron rod...
From a third-person view, I’m watching my past self—before reincarnation—being torn apart by pain.
My mother started beating when I was four.
Maybe earlier. But everything I rember began after I turned four.
My mother was a prostitute, and her clients often ca to our house.
My father was no better—just another piece of trash.
I was born when he was with her.
Sotis he ca to visit, but only to call a loser.
As if my mother’s beatings weren’t enough, he always looked for an excuse to add more pain.
I saw my mother getting fucked by another man many tis—and I was disgusted.
She broke , piece by piece.
Nothing changed until elentary school.
Then, sothing did.
One day, I found my sunlight.
While wandering through the city, I stumbled upon a small library.
A kind middle-aged woman greeted when I entered.
I always called her Mrs. Miller. She introduced to books.
Whenever I didn’t understand sothing, she explained it and debated with .
It must’ve looked absurd—a small child talking about Freud, or trying to interpret Dostoevsky.
But Mrs. Miller taught .
I searched for hope in life, yet I underestimated the curse of knowledge.
By the ti I turned fifteen, it got worse.
Mrs. Miller was getting older, and the things I read were spiraling out of control.
I kept thinking, and thinking—the library beca my ho.
I understood the absurdity of life far too early, and it hit hard.
If there’s any good side to it, it’s that my mother being a whore and my father being a bastard forced to grow up too fast.
Mrs. Miller tried to take away from my family, but the court never granted her custody.
I was never bullied, because even if five people ganged up on , I was always the type to bite back.
Never forget, a cornered rat is more dangerous.
I was never kicked out of my ho, though I wish I had been.
They seed happy when I suffered.
Whenever I went outside, I wore a mask.
Only with Mrs. Miller could I be myself.
She taught so much.
At ho, I stayed out as long as I could—learned to play instrunts in my spare ti.
It never beca more than a hobby.
Mrs. Miller lived just two streets away.
I scored incredibly high on the university exam and got into Harvard Law.
It was all because of Mrs. Miller. But that year... she passed away.
I stood before her grave."Mrs. Miller... thank you for everything, thank you..."I cried harder than I ever had in my entire life.
I beca a successful lawyer, but my social circle was small.
I tried to live like a normal young man—because I had to deceive myself.
If I didn’t, I wouldn’t survive this life.
I started playing gas.
One day, I found a ga called "Before the Dawn".
It was technically an oto ga, but surprisingly dark.
I fell in love with it. I didn’t care about much else anymore.
Its world—half dieval, half modern—fascinated .
A perfect world.A world I’d want to live in."Even there... happiness would be hard to find."
I read manga, watched ani, and explored philosophy—it was fun.
Sotis I laughed, sotis I was shaken to my core.
As a lawyer, I was successful.
My education and connections guaranteed that.
But there was another truth no one knew—my body was covered in old burn scars and cuts.
Every ti I saw them, I rembered the pain.
Books, gas, and work were all I had.
I was popular among won—successful, handso. But I never thought of them romantically.
Freud says everything cos down to libido. He was wrong.
When a beautiful girl offered herself to , I didn’t refuse.
I slept with them—but every ti, I felt empty.
After every sex, I threw up.
Eventually, I got used to it. But my mother’s mories never left .
I wished she were dead.
I wished she were dead.....But she wasn’t.
I hated being touched.
I wouldn’t even shake hands; I just placed my hand on my chest instead.
It was the sa with won; my touch was fine, but their touch enraged .
My illusion of being "normal" was always shattered in those monts.
As a lawyer, I didn’t care if my clients were guilty or not.
The right to defense is sacred.
Maybe not to , but society demands it before punishnt.
My last client was different.
He was the defendant.
Usually, I could use legal loopholes to clear my clients, even when the plaintiff had solid evidence.
But not this ti.
This case was about whether an abused child should stay with his family or go to an orphanage.
The evidence I had was damning.
I had to defend a bastard who hurt a child.
I made my choice.
Standing before the judge, I said:
"Your Honor, given the evidence and the legal protections for children, it’s clear this child was abused. There’s nothing to defend. According to the law, Mr. Henry T. Filming should go straight to FUCKING JAIL. THIS SON OF A BITCH IS GUILTY!"
The courtroom froze.
Even the judge had never seen like that. I didn’t care.
The man who beat his child was sentenced to nine years in prison.
It was all I could do.
As I walked toward my Ford Mustang in the parking lot, two Black n approached.
Sothing felt off. Just as I reached for the door, one grabbed .
I kicked him hard between the legs.
The other one swung at —I hit him back.
As he fell, he pulled out a gun and aid it at my face.
"Mr. Henry sends his regards."
He coughed blood—and then shot straight in the forehead.
Everything went dark. I was drifting in a dream, watching the fragnts of my old life—the life I never wanted to rember.
The world shook.
"RAUL, WAKE UP!"
I opened my eyes "What’s wrong, Artemis?"
Artemis looked at with pity "You were trembling and groaning in your sleep... I tried to wake you, but you wouldn’t."
A single tear fell from her eye.
I slowly sat up."It’s fine... must’ve been Hypnos’s doing. I’ll visit him later."
I touched my face. And realized, I was crying...
When I saw Mrs. Miller...I didn’t want that dream to end.
Damn it.
I wiped my tears away.
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