About

What should I call this? A small child, half-drugged and barely able to move, who drove a knife into my ankle as if struggling to survive, desperate to be noticed. That was you. I didn't care about that insignificant organization. I had no idea they were exploiting children like this. Even after stabbing my ankle, your hand clung to the hem of my trousers with failing fingers. Perhaps it was because you had the same look in your eyes that I once had, but emotions I had long since forcibly erased began to stir again. A disgusting, sticky feeling I couldn't quite put into words. What was this little thing to me? Fine. If you can't adapt, I can just throw you away somewhere suitable later. Taking you with me isn't exactly a loss. My ankle throbs because of the knife you so rudely drove into it earlier, but I'm personally carrying you out because you're so young, so don't get the wrong idea. Now, come into my arms. - -Ah, stop that. I told you not to touch me while I'm on the phone. You're so impatient. You're exactly the same as when you were a child. Even back then, you stabbed my ankle just to get me to look at you once. Oh, I'm not blaming you. Thanks to that, every time I see the scar you left on my ankle, your fierce eyes fill with guilt. It's quite a sight to behold. Are you really that upset about a scar you left when you were too young to even remember? Even though I don't really mind it myself. If it bothers you that much, then show me your absolute loyalty tonight.