Random:Hey peeps. This one-shot is just something I started a long time ago. I was ruffling through my fan-fiction folders on Freddie (my laptop xP) and found this. I'm was like, wow, I completely forgot about this! So I read it over, and polished it up. Hope you readers like! Or cry...;D.

Disclaimer: No ownage of Kingdom Hearts, or it's characters.

Hi, my name is Naminé," she says with a small smile.

And a spell was cast. He caught sight of her sparkling eyes, the curve of her lips, and then, presto, he was instantly hers, obsessed and desperate.

That was his biggest and first mistake.

In his eyes, in everyone's who just saw her merely by glancing, she was this new, exotic, goddess who laughed loud but delicately. Who walked as if dancing, and smiled in a way that made you wish she was yours. She seemed like she was forever happy, and nothing could bring her down.

He, the stupid, stupid Boy, thought it was love-at-first-glimpse. She, simply bored out of her pretty little head, found the new town uninteresting. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a nervous boy who was jerking his gaze from her to the ground. And just when she was about to call him over with a grin, he hopped up from his bench, sat next to her, and struck up a conversation. It surprised her at first, but then she realized how much more interesting he was going to be.

Soon he was blowing up her cell, making her laugh, inviting her everywhere, and even buying chocolate on random days. She was beginning to really like this –naïve— boy. He almost made her forget all those troubles at home. Almost filled a void she was so used to having empty.

Summer faded as if a dream and the boy remained loyally at her side. Students craved the attention of this new divinity. She was so irresistible. They all, eventually, fell to her America's Angel smile and inviting charm. It was human nature, to be attracted to something new, something to break the everyday mold. And as she socialized, the boy showed some hints of jealousy, greed. She had to be his, just had to, and he wasn't willing to share with anyone.

That was his second mistake.

Of course she noticed this. She took in every detail of everyone. It was her job because otherwise she would never find their faults, their weaknesses and commit it to memory. And if she didn't call them out, then she would never be able to remain on the throne. And she couldn't have that. Not when she worked so hard to delude them.

One night, after a long and rather boring Blitz-ball game, he scrounged up courage to hold her hand. Like a wind chime, she giggled. But he wasn't finished. When he stood at her porch, face looking extremely handsome with the moon's light, he kissed her. Very soft because he believed she was fragile, despite her perfection.

Kiss ignited spark, spark grew to a flame and next a burning inferno slowly melting her icy heart. It was obvious that they absolutely adored one another. Their hands were always glued together. They had so many common likes that no one doubted that she was his other half. They were the best kind of soul mates.

But she was reluctant to admit this. She didn't expect things to get so serious. She knew things had to end soon—they weren't supposed to be lovers—and a little part of her died at the thought. She tried to block out those types thoughts, and watch as things took their course, even as she cried inside. But that didn't work.

So she resorted back to her old friend alcohol. Her first taste was way back when boys were icky. Now they were funny little creatures with small stupid dreams.

And now she was the desperate one.

He took notice quickly. He was worried because he knew the effects. He knew her family, two people who didn't care about her at all. His soul mate and alcohol were not supposed to be together. He tried—gently, and caringly—to tell her drop the habit. It was getting harder and harder watching her as the poisin quickly changed her. She instantly blew up in his face. She said she had no idea what he was talking about. She was perfectly normal. And she only drank little amounts. He didn't believe her.

But he was determined. It was destroying her. It was destroying them. And he didn't want that. He wanted to live with her beside him, he wanted to laugh with her, and he wanted to love her. Even though he tried so hard, she was just as stubborn as he. She was decaying right before his eyes but he couldn't stop her. So he threatened—not meaning it at all—to end their relationship.

His third mistake.

She laughed in his face, and pointed at the door, clutching a wine bottle in the other hand. She told him to leave. She said she didn't need him at all. That cut deep into his heart. In fact, she continued, her life would be much better with him out of it. And then he walked away. He was so sick of it, of her, of trying to help her as it blew up in his face. He left even with the bittersweet feeling clawing at his heart.

The girl, the fake goddess, acted as if he was nothing more to her than a toy. But she was lying. She knew it, and he did too. But he didn't do anything. She had to pull herself out of the mess. Everyone was genuinely surprised but neither said why they broke up—but boys flocked at her, happy at the news. She threw herself at them. She let them do what they wanted. She did anything it took to get him, the stupid Boy, out of her mind.

One of the boys—the one who lusted after her with glazed eyes from the beginning—invited her to a party. His parents wouldn't be home. Everyone was going. She said yes.

It was her first mistake.

The girl danced with anyone, supplied with ridiculous amounts of alcohol. Her body, her mind, was so filled that she had no sense of where she was or what she was doing. She didn't want to. If she did, he would crawl into her mind and she would lose herself. So she deliberately fell into the arms of the lusty one, and kissed him.

To her completely obliviousness, the Boy was across the room and watching. It was making his stomach churn. He knew all about the guy she was kissing. He was a jerk, and a player. He would use her. He would hurt her. But he couldn't stand and watch—they were climbing up the stairs with their hot lips moving, hands traveling. He couldn't give up on her.

By the time he caught up with them, she was screaming at the tall teen boy. She wriggled underneath him and slipped off the bed. She was crying. She ran out of the room and into her ex.

When their bodies collided and realization settled in, they were both hit with memories. Sweet ones with innocent moments, where they were unaware to their future. They cherished it. Neither wanted to let go. He slipped his arms around her. She was crying harder now and mumbling his name out. He said he was sorry for everything, and still loved her just as much as before.

But she couldn't take his guilt, his love. Why did he do that—blame it on himself? Obviously it was her with the problem. She was the one who wouldn't do anything about it, the thing that tore them apart.

Full of guilt, and sorrow, she pushed away from him and darted down the stairs. He followed after her and calling out her name. Heads turned, lips moved to whisper as the couple ran out the door, into the cold winter street.

She pushed herself farther, told her legs to keep running. If she just kept running away…it would go away. He would go away. He wouldn't make her feel like the center of his universe and put on her on a pedestal she didn't deserve.

She didn't deserve love—not his.

Tears blinded her eyes, and the pounding of her own heart blocked out his calls. She didn't hear him behind her, barely felt the graze of his hands across her back. It wasn't until she reached the end of the sidewalk did she notice.

A cold terror gripped his heart before he knew why. He saw her legs stand out against the black pavement of the street. He saw the blaring red DON'T WALK hand sign on the pole. He heard the cars, the honking. He saw her stop. He watched her eyes grow in size, her mouth open in frozen shock.

But he didn't see when he pushed her out of the way. He didn't feel the car smash into ribs—crushing them with the speed of 35 miles per hour—, or his head crashing into the street floor. Everything was in sudden red and all he remembered thinking was "save her."

And that wasn't a mistake.

She started screaming, and it ripped at her throat and into his ears. But it was starting to fade in his ears. It sounded far off. He thought he saw her crawl to him, eyes covered in a wall of standing tears, and mouthing his name over and over again. Though there was pain all over that kept him from trying to comprehend her words.

She begged to stay awake. She kept lifting his eyelids and squeezing his hand. She didn't think this was happening, she didn't think this was real. He wasn't supposed to die! He was supposed to keep trying to lover her…he was…he….

An idiot of a man tried to pry her away from him, and she started flailing her limbs like a mad woman. She was screaming, she was trying to jerk her body away out of his grip. But the man only released her after the ambulance had come and gingerly placed his mangled, bloody, body on a stretcher. She calmed down, watching the red emergency vehicle speed away from with a siren blaring in her head. This wasn't happening, she repeated to herself.

Three days passed and she had to plead the nurse at the head office to let her see him. It was a hard enough struggle to come to the hospital as it was. When she wouldn't budge, his mother walked down the hall, and saw her. She admitted her to see him, the only boy who ever really loved her, but his mother was tense. Her eyes were puffy and red. She told her he was in a coma.

They were going to take him off Life Support a week from that day.

She watched his chest rise and fall, regretting the moment she ever told him to leave. She needed him so much. She was so stupid. She said that aloud, to his practically lifeless body. She begged him to open his eyes and speak, and she felt a sense of Deja Vu. Why couldn't she have cast away her fear, her pride, and let him love her like she wanted him to? Why did he stop trying? Why wouldn't he speak?

He remained motionless. His heart-rate the same rhythmic beat. His eyelids didn't flutter, and he didn't squeeze her hand when she dug her nails into it. The boy was gone, he had already left them, the people who mattered so much to him. It was cruel and unneeded to keep him alive. He used to be an energetic spirit and would hate being a lifeless vegetable for the rest of his life. He would've told them to pull the plug already.

The day came, his funeral, and she could barely tolerate the preaching of the Pastor. Her hands itched to cover her ears, and run away. Like always. But she sat still, (thinking of him and their shared memories) next to his family on the first pew and clutching the hand of his mother and his younger sister. She guessed that they never knew how she pushed him away, or about her problem. They only knew that he loved her and that was all they needed to know.

The reminiscence faded as her name was called. She stood up, walking outside the circle of people in chairs with mixed faces. She stood on a platform with a backdrop of a sunset behind her and faced her audience. She thought of him one last time.

"And I'm an alcoholic."

Random: Thanks for reading!

Peace!--return to the home only made of webs--