So, let's get one thing straight, if nothing else. I really hate my family with the exception of my twin brother. Now, you're probably thinking . . . Well, that's a lousy thing to say but it's not. Not if you knew them for who they were, what they were, and at what price they were willing to sell out their own kin.
My name is Roxas, but that's not the name anyone in this town is going to know me by. I'm pretty average, aside from undergoing an alias that isn't my own. My brother, Sora, isn't the brightest crayon in the box, or in the department store, really. But he is what he is; he's Sora and there's no other way that I'd have him. Even if I do sometimes feel like auctioning him off on E-bay.
Great introduction, right?
As the older brother (by ten minutes) it's in my job description to play hero, to pull him out of any given situation that threatens his life, ranging from gun point to a cut from some damned sharp object that some idiot was foolish enough to leave out in the open, where he could access it.
It's an insight into the fact that my parents weren't the best at their jobs. At least not the instinctive ones they gained by producing kids. (People really need fucking licenses for those things. Have a Children's license? Gooood. Now you can access your reproductive organs.) No, it's always been just us. Our parents were more like robots and a part of me has picked up that tactic, but I still have emotions, even if I'm not keen on showing them.
My parents gave lousy a whole new definition and had I been in someone else's shoes, I might've called their ruthlessness fucking brilliant. But I'm in no one's shoes but my own and from my view point, things were Fucked Up. Yes, with capitals. What they did deserves capital letters, through and through.
See, my parents were more or less, contract killers. For the less knowledgeable, that means, they'd kill anyone, anywhere, for a price. As you can probably figure by that last line, their loyalties were pretty, well ... nonexistent. They were wishy-washy and shifted to the person with the most cash. And cash only, thanks. No checks or credit here, pal.
Since Sora and I were little, they were in and out of the house. We usually ended up at home, alone, curled up next to each other on the twin bed we shared. If we were lucky, we'd occasionally be dropped off at a distant relative's house, or set as a burden upon the elderly neighbors that were kind enough not to refuse. Growing up was no walk in the park, but I learned something from it. Something valuable.
Everyone has a secret and most people will stop at nothing to make sure it stays low-profile.
The hectic part of our life began with that ridiculous secret that they wanted to preserve.
I'd go into more detail, but I think Sora's making an idiot of himself outside . . . in front of our douchebag neighbors. What were their names again? Something lame. Alex and Rick? Nah, definitely not it. Dumbass and Cuntface? Oooh, I'm so close. I can feel it.
One of their names sounds like peak-a-boo and the other was a car part. Dick-u and Axel? Well, those sound about right. Not that Dick-u actually rhymes with peek-a-boo though. Oh, right. It's Riku.
And the only reason I know that is because I can hear Sora swooning over his name from outside. Excuse me while I go kick some silver-haired ass.