Summary: Aggressive people typically have a past that makes them aggressive. Speech choices and routine actions typically have the same. Could you figure out someone's past from just their words alone?

Why those words?

Another back hand scorched across his face as angered eyes bore down on him as if he were scum. Another vase smashed against the wall just to his left, this time it missed him, though considering the punishment he'd get for 'dodging' maybe it would have been better to get in the way of the projectile.

"You are a worthless pile of scum." The woman hissed. "Your some satanic child, I should have given you away as soon as I saw it." Her words were seething and hurtful, but the boy only looked on with emotionless grey eyes.

"Of course." He muttered back.

"But I'm kind and I'm honourable." She screeched at the young man as he stood stalk still only breathing lightly in fear of more abuse. "I raised you for him and this is how you repay me!"
The woman lunged forward and gripped the boy's arm in a weak grip that stung only because of the talon-like nails that had grown sharp without care. They dragged along his pale skin, leaving ugly, angry marks of broken skin.

"All you can do right is put people in hospital like some lowly gang member, it's no wonder your father is never home, I bet you chased him off!" her screeches were accusing and prominent. They raked the boy, though he didn't show it. "I bet he left because he hates you, he doesn't want a demon for a son!"

There was a pause in the screaming and the plates and vases stopped colliding with the walls. For a moment the boy allowed his dark hair to fall in front of his face and hide the abandonment in his eyes. He would not show this frail, sick woman his weakness. Not once and not ever.

"Mother, it's time for you to go back to bed." He spoke evenly; it was like facing an aggravated animal; no sudden movements, steady and precise words, direct straightforward intentions. "It's time for your medication, I'm sure you must be tired."

A glaze settled over the disheveled woman, her eyes seemed to take on a distant look and she actually tried to smooth out the wrinkles of her night gown. Her weak, frail hands run through her dark hair as she gazes at the young man whose face was just starting to show the bruise from the back hand she had given him.

"Oh, Anata, you are home. Where have you been? I've missed you so much." Her voice was soothing and warm; the boy winced as he approached the woman and extended his uninjured arm out to her.

"Of course, I'm sorry I was gone for so long. I promise not to leave for so long next time." The boy's voice was distant as he led his mother away from the living room and into her bedroom.

He settled the woman beneath the sheets and dutifully handed her the medication she needed to take. He set a glass of water at her bedside and kissed her cheek just as she was falling asleep.

Spinning on his heel the boy stalked out, the mess from the vases and the plates would be cleaned up by the maids- it was their job after all- and he couldn't bear the suppression in the house. If he didn't have a duty to the woman who bore him and brought him into the world he would never return. But his duty was just that, it needed to be done because he loved his mother dearly.

Instead he could only escape in the one place that would never judge or criticise him. The one place he could nap without disruption, could nurture without rebuke, and could break down without rejection.

Outside the house there were few things that could touch him, no one could hurt him or tell him he was wrong. Outside that god-forsaken home no one would dare throw things at him or tell him he was a demon, make him believe he was worthless. Even if they tried, well:

"Kamikorosu."
That wouldn't take long to sort out at all.

Me + Angst = fail DX

I would seriously like a review for this... because I need some criticism for this DX

Thank you all!

~~Bleach-ed-Na-tsu.