Title: Dancing on a Fine Line

Chapter Title: Volatile

Summary: When the darkness spills into he light, when It has faded away completely, there's always blood. This time is no exception.

Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade or its characters; they belong to their respective owners.

Warnings: a bit bloody and a curse word.

Well, this is another Beyblade fic. It isn't a oneshot, but I want to see what people think before I continue it.

++Chapter0.01 : Volatile++

~~Reality has exiled me. I am no longer bound by its laws.~~

--Author Unknown

"Stay out of my room, Kai!" The door is slammed in my face and I roll my eyes, shuffling my feet down the hallway to my own room.

Meet Michael Parker. High school jock in almost every sport, almost an only child, and my… thirty-second adoptive brother. Or wait… is it thirty-third? I lose count. But I do know this is my seventeenth adoption home.

A small, secrete smile paints itself on my lips. I must hold some kind of record, somewhere, with how many foster homes I've been in. I know I hold the record back at the orphanage.

Oh, I suppose I should introduce myself. My name's Alexander Kai Hiwatari, but I go by Kai. I'm pale, wiry, and I have naturally crimson eyes. I'm sixteen and… that's pretty much all you need to know about me.

Now, back to this family. There's Michael Parker, who's the same age as me, Shirley Parker, his mom who's always away, and his dad, Jonathan Parker, who is also always away.

Yes, I do say his mom and his dad for a reason. I don't claim them as my parents. It's not because I have teenage angst problems and I'm clinging to the past, and not because I won't accept the fact that my parents are dead. Rather, it's that I do accept it that my parents are dead and, therefore, don't claim new ones. Odd, I know, and the two sentences seem contradictory but it makes sense.

You see, I've been to seventeen different foster homes in my life, but I've never stayed more than a month in any of them. Not because I run away, but because the family has always kicked me out by then. They never keep me for long. Get it yet? I don't claim new ones because I don't ever know them long enough.

My parents dies when I was three, in some freak car accident. I don't know much, and the people at the orphanage never say much. Apparently they pulled over to check something on the car and another car drove too close and killed them. When I got my hands on my file back at the orphanage, it said that I stayed in the car all night until someone was driving by and saw their bodies.

All night, with my parents' guts strewn across the road. Their blood smeared across the car, across my window, and I was too stupid to understand. Creepy, I know.

I would tell you more, but right about now Michael will be coming in here, screaming about the mess I've made. Oh, I think I hear the lock turning now…

"Kai!!" Michael roars, his blue eyes ablaze with anger. I listen as he stomps down the hallway to my room. "Pick up your damn trash!" In his hands, he holds my 'trash': an unused Styrofoam cup and a clean paper plate.

"Make me, Princess," I mock, an amused grin settling on my lips before I look back down at the magazine I'm reading. I only left them in there to tick him off; it's fun being able to piss someone off like that.

Michael's face turns bright red. He brings his arm back and throws it forward, hurling the trash at me. Now, he's a pitcher on the baseball team, so he obviously throws harder than most. Yet the cup only bounces off my head and the plate doesn't even reach me.

Nonetheless I shoot my head up at him, my naturally crimson eyes bright with anger. No, rage. Raw rage. I see Michael visibly flinch it almost makes me laugh.

I can feel the rage coiling in me like a snake preparing to attack. Twisting tighter and tighter in my stomach, festering in me like a black cloud. I shift myself into a sitting position, letting the anger grow tenser in me like a string pulled tight.

When the snake springs into attack, so do I.

Thud.

Tears.

Screams.

Adrenaline.

Blood…

I sit back on my haunches, rocking myself back and forth casually. I glance down at my knuckles, noticing the split skin; I'll have to bandage them later. Turning my hand over, I look at my nails, and the blood and skin wedged under them. I begin pulling it out.

Beside me Michael lays, face up and still. His whole face is bloody, most likely torn ragged by my knuckles and when I must have raked my nails across him. Even his eyes are cut up and bleeding. A few scratches reach his neck, the blood pooling out of him and painting the carpet crimson. His eyes are wide, the blue already fading to a dull grey, and his mouth is caught in a permanent scream. Screams only heard by me, though I can't recall them now; they're just a persistent ringing in my ears.

My head is still pounding from the adrenaline rushing through my veins, but I smile at the pain. I worship the feeling, the natural high I get, from letting It take over.

I frown, suddenly realizing that his parents aren't home. I hope they'll be home soon; the blood will permanently stain their carpet red. I don't want to ruin their carpet, but Michael is almost twice my size, and there's no way I can move him on my own. Then I hear the car door slam outside, and I grin again.

Hello. My name's Alexander Kai Hiwatari, but I go by Kai. I'm pale, wiry, and I have naturally crimson eyes. I'm sixteen, and… that's pretty much all you need to know about me.

Oh, except that I'm insane.

++Chapter0.01 : End++

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R&R.

--blueXXphoenix--