ay sat at his simple desk, staring at the papers before him — from various fields of knowledge: history, humanities... At some point, his expression darkened.
"I don't lose sleep just to study the history of someone's boredom."
But unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it, for the Kingdom of Anshlos ran everything through mental capacity. The nobility system had been destroyed and replaced by this one long ago.
He heard his mother's voice approaching, so he stopped complaining to himself. She got straight to the question:"Were you studying?""Yes…""Show me."
There was nothing strange about her request — and because of her gentle smile, he couldn't resist anyway.
He picked up the small notebook bound in brown leather. It was cold to the touch because he hadn't used it; he hadn't had the time or luxury to do what she had asked of him… Somehow, his hand holding the notebook trembled violently without his permission. He didn't want it to move like that, because it simply made him look pathetic. It was an involuntary motion, especially when he saw his mother's smile vanish as if it had never been there.
"Why lie? What have you been doing all day? Do you know how much I suffer and work every single day to provide for you? Do you know how much effort I put into clothing you, feeding you, and giving you everything you need so that nothing lacks for you? All of this only to turn you into a successful person."
Her eyes avoided his involuntarily. He didn't want to see the words carved deep within them. He knew — no, he was sure — of what she thought of him. His sin wasn't that great; it was only that he was too exhausted to finish all his tasks in time.
His mother sighed in deep anger and looked at him with eyes that held no emotion."Even though you're a failure by nature and the son of that man, I have always, always expected something from you — even something small… just a grain of success."Her eyes glimmered with deep disappointment."I always give you countless chances."
He didn't reply. He didn't want to anger her more — anger wasn't good for her already frail health. He only looked at her with a relaxed, calm, and somewhat comforting expression... as long as she didn't get angrier than necessary. If she said the fault was his, then it was his. No authority in this world could surpass hers.
In a moment of violent rage, Ray felt something indescribable — a feeling far worse than when he had been punched countless times by boys his age. It was much more painful, despite Mira's small hand… her slap hurt the most.
He sighed softly and let his hands fall to his sides, clenching his fists but avoiding touching his cheek so as not to make her feel guilty later when she calmed down and realized her mistake, as always.
"I lowered my gaze and avoided her eyes. I returned to my seat to finish what she had asked — and more. She mustn't get angry. I mustn't be the cause of her anger. I'm the one at fault, so I must fix my mistakes... When I am the son of that man, then that fault is mine, and it is I who must make up for it by working harder."
He repeated inwardly, with a faint smile on his face: "Don't let her see in you what she hates."
He kept repeating those encouraging words from time to time as he studied. Minutes turned into hours... At some point, his nose began to bleed, staining the yellow paper with crimson.
After seven hours, his lips moved soullessly.
He threw everything to the ground and tore apart all the work he had done in those seven hours. He shredded his own effort with both hands, screaming at himself, at the damned books, and at everything his mother had ever given him.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry that I always forget… I always forget who I am, what I am… I forget that I am nothing but a shield for you, nothing more, nothing less… I'm sorry I forgot my role as your puppet." His hands trembled, his features distorted, and his pupils quivered. "If I don't fulfill my reason for existence perfectly, you'll abandon me without hesitation… you'll leave me like the others. That's normal — it's not like you didn't already know that, Ray, right? You've known it for a long time, but you ignored it foolishly."
"No… that can't happen… If you hate me… I…" He looked at his trembling hand. "How could I live after that…"
All his emotions rushed to express themselves, followed by his thoughts. Ray was nothing but conflicted — unable to stand by a single decision or idea. He might still be young, but he was older than many who knew nothing despite their age. Yet his own self overcame him, turning him into more than one thinker. He didn't mind; the more perspectives there were, the clearer the whole picture became.
A great pain enveloped his heart, as if a dark hand were squeezing it. Ray clutched his chest tightly, almost screaming from the unbearable pain that suddenly struck him. His breathing grew heavier with every passing second.
"If I don't work hard, she'll leave me… she mustn't leave me… I'm alone… no… not alone."
He gathered the papers that were still intact with chaotic motions, pulled the chair, and sat again to continue his work like a machine. No matter how hard he tried to read or write, the letters blurred together. Words overlapped beneath a fog... His eyes couldn't hide the truth his heart carried anymore.
He touched his cheek where Mira had slapped him and muttered to himself, "It hurts…" as if the slap had repeated itself a thousand times, its echo ringing in his ear every passing second...
And her eyes, filled with disappointment, only deepened his pain.
A few strands of his black hair fell over his eyes, shielding his emotions from the world. His hand kept writing, the clock ticking in sync with his temporarily mended heart. It went on until warm drops of water fell on his hand, then on his notebook — bringing him back from his daze. He turned, facing the mirror placed nearby, mocking him with his own reflection.
He covered his face with his hand. "I'm weak, aren't I?" A cold, mocking voice answered him — perhaps devoid of pain, or maybe it had hurt so much that it no longer mattered.
"At least you realize it. How pathetic you are."
Unbothered by the other's words, he replied, "I don't know what happens to me sometimes. I mean, it's just routine, isn't it? So why does my heart hurt as if it's about to burst out of my chest at any moment?"
The voice answered, this time with pity and a touch of warmth: "You know what you should do. Stop hurting yourself, please. Stop expecting — expectations only bring ruin. I really don't want to see you like this every time."
He left the chair, his strength failing him, and sat on the floor, leaning his head against the wall, trying to steady his breathing. He smiled bitterly, his eyes wandering to some distant thought.
"Is happiness too much for me to deserve?"
The other laughed softly — a sound Ray found strangely comforting. "Who are you to ask about happiness? Happiness is for them, not for you."
The other placed a hand on Ray's cheek, wiping his tears, then gently patted his head with a tenderness no one — not even his mother — had ever shown him.
"If you seek happiness, you'll remain miserable forever. Don't search for anything. Stay as you are… don't aspire, don't desire. Desire is destruction."
Ray calmed down almost completely, regaining some balance, and looked at the other person.
"I'll always be happy as long as you're here with me. You're the only one who understands and appreciates me as I am."
That person sat beside Ray and tilted Ray's head onto his shoulder.
"I'll cherish you forever, guide you forever, care for you forever… and forever, that word can't contain eternity."
Ray finally laughed, smiling beautifully.
"At least I'm not insane. At least I'm not alone in this… at least there's one person in this whole world who understands what I mean… I'll never die alone. Right?"
With a calm smile that carried no expectation of the world, the man took Ray's hand.
"You know what you have to do."
Ray tightened his grip on the knife — and it ended there.Stab after stab, blood splattered across all his books without exception. Strangely, he felt no pain, though his hand could no longer bear the knife's sharpness. He kept going until his tears stopped all at once. Then he felt the cold surrounding his heart, gathering it again… He had found peace.
Then he looked at the other man — or rather, his reflection in the mirror. The only person who understood him was his own ungrateful self.He stared at his now-cold features, catching a faint glimmer in his calm brown eyes before it vanished. Lowering his gaze, he resumed writing — even though his notebook was now deep red from his flowing blood.
Despite everything, he continued studying — in the way she wanted, not the way he did. It was just a painful game…
"This hurts."
A whole week passed in the same routine — nothing new. He moved from one role to another; perhaps the only change was that he no longer spoke much to his mother — in fact, he didn't speak to her at all. It was as if a rock had been placed on his tongue; whenever he tried to speak, the words evaporated.
But today was Tuesday — the day he cooked for her himself. It wasn't a day he could ignore her.
She stood behind him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Ray, I haven't seen you lately… are you ignoring me?"
He shook his head, indicating she was wrong.
"Why don't you talk to me?"
He opened his mouth slightly and tried his best to speak, begged his voice to come out — but it didn't. So he closed his mouth again.Clearly, his mother didn't like that — she frowned deeply.
"Speak!"He didn't answer either, continuing to chop vegetables quietly, longing for the knife's edge.
"I said speak!"
Her patience began to wear thin. She grabbed both his shoulders and shook him.
"I'm your mother! You can't ignore me like this…"
Suddenly, her eyes fell on his hands.He tried to hide them behind his back, but she seized his wrist tightly and raised it.He clenched his hands into fists, but she opened them angrily — and saw the marks of his previous outburst. The moment she saw them, tears burst from her eyes involuntarily. She spoke in a soft voice, more to herself than to him:
"Why… why are you doing this?"
Finally, the weight lifted slightly from his tongue, and as soon as he said "I…" she screamed, crying violently."You should be ashamed of yourself… do you want me to die of fear for you?!"She cried, looking at him with even greater disappointment than before.
"You have no reason to do this, yet you act like a madman… Do you really long that much to become insane? I give you everything — everything I can — and in the end, you… imitate the insane like some reckless boy."
That rock on his tongue was now on his chest. He took a breath and put on that mask — the mask of a boy full of regret who only wanted his mother's forgiveness at any cost. He stepped closer and held her hand.
"Forgive me… I was just trying it."
She pulled her hand away and pushed him.
"Trying what? Trying death?"
"No, it's just that I…"
He didn't finish — no matter what he said, he'd still be guilty. So saying nothing was better than wasting precious words in vain.
He looked at her with eyes reflecting everything — what he wanted most at that moment was simple:For her to hug him, to understand him, to see what was happening…She left him — angry, sad, and broken — entering her room, leaving her last words hanging in the air.
"You're ungrateful."
He looked at his slightly trembling hands, then hugged himself. He let out a small sigh, smiled, and continued cooking. He placed the food tray in front of her room because she refused to open the door, no matter how much he knocked or apologized.
He went to the kitchen to drink some water. The glass slipped from his hand and fell, shattering loudly. He fell right after it.He tried to steady his breathing, doing his best to stop the sharp pain coming from every heartbeat.
"Don't hope… don't desire… striving for happiness only brings misery…"