"Oh Demyx! Haha careful!" Naminé exclaims as Demyx gives her a piggy back ride. "Don't drop me!" She squeals with lovable laughter. "I won't drop you, Nami." Demyx assures her and he grins then pretends to trip. "Dem! That wasn't funny!" She scolds and Demyx puts her down gently.
Naminé tilts her he back to see his face and she pinches his nose. "Ow! Hey!" He says and she sticks her tongue out at him. "Don't be mad, Nam. Sorry, it was just a joke." He tells her and she smiles. She wraps her arms around his waist and she presses her lips to his collar bone. Demyx bends down and kisses her lightly. "Nam…" He says and she doesn't look at his face. Demyx can tell she knows his tone of voice means something bad.
"…I'm leaving to college and…it's going to be hard to see you all the time and…" He says and she glares at him coldly. "YOU ARE TELLING ME THIS, NOW?!" She asks and Demyx stiffens at her anger. "…I didn't want to ruin our date…" He says and his girlfriend shoves away from him. Her back is turned and Demyx stands there. Alone.
"If you want to break up with me. Fine. But you are never going to be with me again. I hope you are happy…" She cries and Demyx reaches out to touch her glistening blond hair. Naminé prances off with tears killing her mascara. 'This is the beginning of being an adult…I have to make the right choices…' Demyx thinks and he watches her leave. 'Even if it kills me…I'm 18…I need to…stay strong…' The blond's mind echoes.
Demyx was never the star of the swim team, the smart yet funny guy or the heart throb of the school. He was the teen who no one ever looked twice at because he was one of those teens with a rumor for a past. The blond lived out where the ivy crawls over every living soul, where the ground always looked like it just rained, where there was neighbors about 5 miles apart. It was only him and his old 'aunt' who lived in the cottage.
She claims she found Demyx as a baby and he was sleeping in the duckweed by the lake. The crazy witch lady took him in her cottage and nurtured the water child. He never called her 'mom' or 'auntie'. She told him to call her grandma but Demyx still couldn't tell what her age was.
The lady was too flawless to be called grandma. Her face with clear of wrinkles and her green grey eyes looked as bright as a child's. She had glossy black hair and porcelain skin which all the moms in town envied. There are very few people in the world who can look like they are forever young. People claim it's all fantastic plastic surgery work but some believe it's witchcraft.
He refused to believe she's seventy-eight-years-old. No matter how many times he would talk to her in the kitchen while she took fresh blueberry scones or moist honey bread out of the oven; he would always repudiate to believe when she would say: "Demyx, I'm sure you will do great in college. I am almost 8 decades old and I'm staying here. Don't worry if I'm not here when you come back." Demyx would pat her head like a sweet child and laugh. "You're crazy." He would joke and she would always cackle maniacally; she was joking…of course.
The strange woman was the only person who truly cared about Demyx. Zexion was a best friend but she was like a mom to Demyx. She was his only family. The raven haired woman would sit at Demyx's bedside with a cup of herbal tea when he was sick. She would put a wet rag on his forehead and drop scents of thyme, jasmine, and cassis rose behind his ears. Demyx grew to admire her bizarre rituals.
He was always the weird kid. The outcast. Zexion was his only friend but after this last day of staying in town before college; Demyx wasn't sure if he would ever have a friend again. The nightshade teen would sneak to Demyx's house every Friday night. No matter how threatening the silver lightening was or how deep the gashes on Zexion's hand from the thorny brambles by the creek…he would always visit Demyx…because that's what friends are for.
Zexion went to a private school so Demyx was alone when he went to high school. The adolescence would notice Demyx being a loner and they knew what part of town he lived at. Rumors spread like lumpy peanut butter over the school; it frustrated Demyx and it was all stretched and mangled into lies about him.
People say that Demyx likes to kill blackbirds and nail them on the mantle above the fireplace. Others have claimed that Demyx sleeps in a tub of water with black thorns on the edges so he could keep evil spirits away. Some rumors are of Demyx sneaking into houses at night to blast the water faucets so homes will flood.
Zexion would listen to Demyx's stories with a cigarette between his fingers. The firefly embers would spark off this tip of the cigarette anytime Zexion let out a laugh. "It's not funny!" Demyx says and he shoves his friend's angel wing tattooed shoulder blade. Zexion chuckles lightly and his soaking wet shaggy hair clings around his pearly ceramic face.
The crypt teen's wet J-pop T-shirt sits in the cobwebbed corner of the crematorium. Witch hazel and elm trees are suffocating from the Virginia creeper ivy plants. The red wine starfish leaves contrast with the dark blue tinted storm clouds from the broken skylight above the teen's heads. "I can't believe you tripped into the creek." Demyx says with beautified, melodic laughter. "Hey it's dark outside and you're no MR. Graceful either." Zexion hisses and Demyx laughs again.
It seems as if the jet black sky of the town always show cased the magnificent diamonds in the sky. Demyx stares up at the constellations of Vulpecula and Cygnus. He catches his best friend's gaze and Zexion puts out his cigarette on some dead soul's coffin. "Last night, huh? Naminé knows now, huh?" Zexion asks and Demyx merely nods. "Yeah…it's over with her and I." Demyx says and Zexion smiles. He gives Demyx a big squeeze and Demyx feels his ribs tighten from the hug.
"At least she doesn't think you are a crazy ole shaman." Zexion jokes and Demyx hugs Zexion back. "I'm going to miss you…a lot." Demyx admits and Zexion pulls away from the hug. "Hey I don't want any witchcraft cooties, Dem." Zexion says and he nudges Demyx's chin with his fist. "Keep smiling, kid." Zexion says even though they are the same age…Demyx always has to be the 'cute, little guy'.
Demyx reflects back on the hot summer nights of walking barefoot amongst the dry creek rocks with Zexion. The smells of melting sea salt ice cream and the feeling of the spicy wind hugging around your body. The rushing feeling of running through the meadows with snapping turtles aiming at your toes and the frightening feeling of leaping over the endless crevasses in the untouched, native part of the forest. Zexion was always there with a glistening smile on his dark Gothic face. Demyx couldn't help but smile back.
Everything seemed to be weighting down on Demyx's shoulders and the pit of his stomach churned with fear, sadness and hopelessness. The rumors of Demyx using a Ouija board and practicing Wicca was strong in town. People would say he would carve symbols into the school floors with the pendulum necklace he wore. Demyx hated the awful rumors and he often sat in the back of the classroom so he would be away from the gossip.
"Zexion…I don't think I can do this…" Demyx admits as he thinks about going to college. Zexion rolls his eyes then makes an adorable smile. "You'll be fine. Just think of it as a fresh start. No one will know where you come from. Just be yourself…and smile. Smiling works." Zexion says and he ruffles Demyx's hair. That night Demyx tossed and turned. Not a wink of sleep. All nightmares.
In the morning, Demyx wakes up from the piercing silver morning light. The cottage is unusually quiet and empty. Demyx grabs his huge bag that looks like it could fit Mary Poppins and all her cartoon friends. This was a fresh start. One train to Twilight Town and he will be in his dorm. A fresh start. He didn't want to be the spaz dropping his backpack in the halls and having the contains vomit out of the sack. Demyx wants to be alone and unnoticed.
The scent is different in town. Car exhaust, fake pine air-freshener, wet newspapers, thrift store wool coats, and burnt tar. Demyx covers his nose and mouth with his hand and his long sleeved black shirt hangs past his fingertips. Few eyes glance at Demyx as he mounts the train.
No one cares on the trains. As long as they reach their mysterious destination, everything will be fine. Demyx sits in the far back in an empty booth. Gum is stuck on the rail holding the suitcases and he carefully scoots his bag up so the fresh gum doesn't stick on like a leech on his handed down suitcase.
As Demyx takes his sat again, he notices the dark purple circles marking the sleepless people. He touches his own face as a reaction. Demyx supposes he must have dark circles too. He feels out of place in his white lint ball covered black long sleeve and his frayed khakis. But no one cares about him.
As the train begins chugging down the steel tracks, Demyx notices how quickly the preps blossom into conversation with each other. It's like some special magnetic force will find other preps and bring them together so the 'popular' teens don't feel alone.
Their sharp ironed polo shirts in sorted colours like sea foam green, peachy creamsicle orange and tickle me pink makes Demyx manage to have a grim smile. He shakes his head as the girls prance to the jocks in their swooshy short skirts. "Hoes." Demyx mutters so softly. It's as if Demyx is invisible; he smiles for real now. He won't be noticed, he won't be laughed at. This was going to be a great year.
Hours fly by as Demyx plays a counting game with his head resting against his foggy window. '263rd pigeon…264th pigeon…' Demyx thinks and his eyelids grow heavy. The screeching halt of train gives Demyx's neck a jagged wipe lash and he wakes from his blank dream. "Twilight Town station." The speaker says and Demyx lurches his suitcase off the rack. People push him back and ignore his 'pardon me's. Demyx finally pops himself out of the mosh pit by the train doors.
Luckily the campus is a few blocks away from the train station. Less chance of Demyx screwing up and getting lost. The blond kicks up some sidewalk pebbles with his suffering old black converse and he walks through the gates of the grand campus. Fountains bubble with glee as students ride their bikes round the cobblestone circles. Prickly pears and ripe cranberries decorate the landscape. Demyx takes out his map and directs himself to the student office.
A rude lady snaps her noisy bubblegum and she calls out NEXT in her hoarse chain smoker voice. "Demyx Takahashi." He tells her and she snatches the three hundred dollar check out of his hands. She pushes thick Bible-like textbooks in front of him with a sticky note and a bronze key sitting on top. "Have fun….freshman." She hacks at him and Demyx shuffles the pile in his strong, slender arms.
"Thanks…" He says and he strides over to the Oshiro House for gifted students. Some how Demyx landed a solid scholarship because he is an expert at the sitar. At least he got to stay in a nice building. He arrives in the mahogany gutted house with a grand piano and velvet chair sitting room. It's like a palace. On the third floor, Demyx twists his key in the slot and thrusts open the door. A male with hedgehog spiked pink hair looks at him with gushy lovey dovey eyes.