I'm sad :( I didn't get any reviews yet. But, I suppose it'll take a while for my story to be known. I'll just have to be patient. Unfortunately, I'm not a patient person. XD Oh well. Here's chapter 1! :D And I mean it this time, I'm NOT submitting 'till I get at least 3 reviews! Come on, people, it's not that hard! Even if it's only one sentence, I'll take it. ;)

The room spun for a few second as Zexion teetered dangerously. He sat down, or more like fell down, onto his bed. His hands were shaking violently. He needed his fix, badly. But he couldn't get out his needle just yet. He had to wait until his father left for work. His father was very over-protective of him, and had a tendency to barge into his room unannounced. If he found out that his son was an experienced meth user, he'd more than flip out. He'd have a heart attack, most likely. Please let him leave soon, he begged in his mind. So I can make it stop. He'd gotten hooked on methamphetamine about 2 years ago, and by now he'd needed to inject himself almost daily to stop the withdrawal symptoms. And quite a big fix he needed, no doubt. He would even still be sober after his dose, which was good, considering the over-scrutiny of his father. But when he didn't get his fix, this would happen. First, his hands would start to shake. Then, the rest of him. His head would throb, and we would feel nauseous. 'What does anyone care,' a different voice in his head asked him. 'You're just a meth addict. A druggie. You screwed up your life.' Zexion gritted his teeth and pushed away the annoying little voice. His shaking increased in intensity.

Finally, he heard the front door open and close. He bolted off his bed, grabbed his needle and belt, and injected himself. He sighed with relief as the shaking and nausea left him. He loosened the belt from him arm, and replaced the needle. He sank back onto his bed, then looked over at his reflection in his mirror. He saw a blue-haired, 16-year-old teenage boy, short and very thin, circles under his eyes, black baggy pants, and a black shirt with a black heart with red thorns on it. He sighed, and covered the left side of his face with his blue hair, giving him a somewhat gothic/emo look. Slightly better. 'But you're still a druggie. How long can you hide that like you hide your face?' There was that voice again. Maybe I'm schizophrenic as well, he thought dryly.

"Zexion!" A weak voice called to him from behind his closed door. "Coming, Mother!" he called out, forcing cheerfulness. He got up and opened his door, then walked down the hall to his parents' room. His mother was lying in bed, like she was on most days. Her face was flushed with fever, but she shivered. "Zexion, my baby, there you are," his mother said when he approached, smiling weakly. "Are you ok? You've been awfully quiet recently." Zexion's heart twisted. His mother was extremely weak and frail, and stayed in bed a lot. One of the reasons why his father was so careful about Zexion. She didn't care about her own health, and only worried about her son, and her husband knew it. It was his way of taking care of her. He really did love her, but he worked a lot, so couldn't care for her. He made sure that her son was ok instead. But Zexion really cared about his mothers health, it worried him deeply. But that was one of the reasons why he'd started on meth in the first place, to escape it all. All of his worries of her, and of his grades, and everything else. "I'm fine, Mother. You should be worrying about yourself. You're shivering; let me get you another blanket." She shook her head fiercely. "I don't need one." She was stubborn. She always was. Zexion's heart twisted with pity again. "Then at least eat something! I'll make you some soup," he pleaded with her. She relented eventually, and Zexion gave her a kiss on her burning cheek before leaving for the kitchen.

As he waited for the soup to finish, Zexion let his mind wander. Unfortunately, that allowed the voice to come back once again. 'You're a hopeless druggie. How can you continue to care for your sick mother like this? Sooner or later, she'll find out, and it'll only make her worse.' He frowned viciously. Shut up he hissed in his mind. What could I do about it now? 'You could stop.' Zexion had no answer for that.

It was true, he could stop, he conceded as he took the soup to his mother, gave her another kiss, and then retreated back to his room. But, he saw no purpose to stopping now. What was there in stopping now, after two years? I already fucked up my life. Why not just live with it, like I'm supposed to?

The next day, Zexion had to get up at 6:00 in the morning. It was the first day of school. Great. Six and a half torturous hours of several thousand kids who don't give a damn, and teachers who don't know shit about their subjects but pretend that they do. Yay. He sighed as he shrugged his 20 pound backpack onto his shoulders and grabbed his keys. He said goodbye to his mother, who was in bed for the day again, and then trudged outside to his car. He drove to school slowly, not wanting to get there early and wait with nothing to do. But no matter how slowly he drove, he couldn't turn a ten minute drive into a thirty minute one. He parked in the parking lot and reached his first classroom with a full ten minutes to spare. Yet to his surprise, he wasn't the first one in the room. There was one other boy, a blond-haired boy with a hairdo that looked like a cross between a mullet and a mohawk. Zexion didn't even need to see the boy's face to know who it was. Demyx.