Disclaimer: I neither own Digimon (else this would be on the telly and not here) nor Three Days' Grace' song, "Home".
Warning: Child, drug and alcohol abuse.
"This house is not a home."- Three Days Grace- "Home"
This is my first attempt at a P.O.V. format.
Takes place after my other fic, "Generation Desenchantee" and before "Love After Life".
Junpei-
I know I have to come out of my room. I hear my mother calling me. Her words are slurred, she took something again. I look around my walls. Truth is, it's not really a room. It's large for what it's supposed to be- a walk-in closet, that is.
I have some stuff hung on the walls, my own drawings on notebook paper. I'm not really supposed to have anything up, but I spend a lot of time in here, and it's nice to have something to look at. I fold my blanket and place it atop my pillow every morning. It's in the corner now. My mother forbade me to get a futon. Something like I don't deserve it. I used to sincerely believe that. Even now, oh well. At least I have enough padding on my body to not feel the hardness of the floor anyway.
I shut off the radio, my only connection to the outside world in here. Seriously, to most people it would look like an ancient piece of rubbish. But it was Dad's. The only thing I have left of him, besides the trust fund which I can't touch until March seventh, my sixteenth birthday.
I wouldn't really care about the money, but Izumi's expecting twins- our twins. I'll use some of that money until I can find a job. I briefly wonder if my mother even knows that she's soon to be a grandmum.
I've told her many times, but she's always so bloody out of it. It's the same reason that she's home on a Saturday afternoon. She got fired for coming in intoxicated again. On the other hand, though, perhaps it's better she not know.
For one, she's Catholic, like Izumi's mum. Izumi and I aren't even old enough to legally marry yet, though I did propose and she accepted.
For two, well, even though in an ideal world, Mum would be sober, she isn't. She never is. Frankly, I just don't want that in my children's' lives. Sure, Izumi's Dad smokes pot, but he only does that once-in-a-while. Alone. He keeps it to himself, at least.
I hear her calling again. "Coming," I call back, and make my way down the stairs.
I see her slumped on the couch, a half-empty bottle of vodka in her hand. My eyes flicker over the coffee table to see that there is a clean syringe neatly lying there, as opposed to the mess of pill bottles at her feet.
She holds out some money to me, "C'mere," she says in slurred Tagalog, having forgotten her Japanese.
"Yes, mum," I manage back in the same language, trying to keep a bright tone, as I near her.
"Get me a fifth," she croaks out, pressing 1500 yen into my hand.
Okay, I have to reason with her.
"Mum," I begin calmly, "I'm fifteen. No one is going to sell me liquor."
"I said get me a fifth," anger mixes into her slurs, and she stands. "Now!"
I take her empty hand gently in mine, "Mum, please listen-"
"No. You listen to me, you ungrateful wench!"
She cracks the glass bottle over my head. I slump against the wall for a moment, but quickly regain my balance.
Kouichi-
"Are you sure this is the right address," I ask my twin as we make our way down the street.
Kouji and I are trying to find Junpei's house. Why? Well, we've been to everyone else's at least umpteen times, and everyone frequently comes to our apartment. However, none of us have ever been to Junpei's.
For some reason, he's very secretive about his home-life. Here's what little we do know.
Junpei's father died when he was ten, and left the family some money. (Although, if this is the right address, I wouldn't have guessed it.)
Junpei is half-Japanese on his father's side.
He lives with his mother, who is a nurse, she works at a clinic.
That's it.
Sometimes, and Kouji agrees wholeheartedly, we get the feeling that Izumi knows just a little more than the rest of us.
That makes sense; she's mothering his children. Thing is, though, she won't say a word.
And that's why we're here.
Kouji unconsciously reaches for my hand, and before either of us know who initiated the action, our fingers are entwined.
We're nervous, this neighbourhood is even worse than ours.
Across the street, there is a skeletal dog chained like a bicycle to a tree. It's barking at us. "Help."" I'm sorry, we can't help you. I wince as its owner smacks it in the head with a baseball bat. Kouji tightens his grip on my hand.
We pass a yard as a plump elderly woman in a muumuu unearths a daikon. Her laundry hangs on the broken wire fence of her yard.
We stop in front of a house, and Kouji holds up the paper that holds the address of Maria Shibayama. The street number is seven fifty-five.
Despite the fact that the middle five looks like it's about to fall off, this seems to be it.
I can't help but wonder if Junpei lied about having money. We take a good look at the house.
The yard is barren, the paint on the house itself is peeled and weather-worn, and the window, which is open, is broken and covered with packing tape.
A woman screams in a foreign language from inside, followed by the sound of shattering glass.
"Mum, please," a young man begs. No wait- Kouji and I trade shocked expressions- that was Junpei!
We race to the door and pound on it, crying out to him.
He comes to the door, opening it only slightly, and sticks his head out.
He has a hand covering part of his forehead.
He looks surprised. Reasonably, though, we found this place in the telephone book.
"Hey, guys," he says, with a forced cheeriness, "Um…now's not really the best time-"
The woman screams something in a foreign language.
"So, if you could…"
Blood drips down beneath his hand, into his eye, and he moves the hand to wipe it away, revealing a large, deep gash.
"What's going on?!" Kouji exclaims, voicing both of our thoughts.
Realising that we've already seen his wound, he lowers his hand, and takes our joined hands gently in his own. "Please, just go. I'd never be able to forgive myself if you two got hurt."
"But you're hurt!" Kouji speaks for both of us.
The woman screams again.
"Please, just go," Junpei begs us. His eyes are filling with tears. That's when my eyes began to mist. I look at my mirror reflection, and see that he really is my mirror reflection.
Kouji probably understands even better than I do. I'll never forget what our father did to Kouji that day…
We are all scared.
Kouji takes his free hand and places it atop Junpei's. I follow suit and layer my hand over Kouji's.
"Call us when you can." Kouji says, and we turn and walk away.
Junpei shuts the door.
We hold on for dear life to each other's hands as we make our way down the street.
~Fin~