-Chapter One: Someone Dial 911-
When it comes down to it, all we have in the world are our roots. Our home, our friends and allies. In the twisted realm of fading earth, it is these things that keep us from losing our grip and falling away into nothingness.
Rarely, if ever, do we think of the others planted next to us, or concern ourselves with their fall, so fixated we are with our own lives.
Oh, what a pity, her parents died. Oh, what a shame, he has left his friends behind.
They are nothing more than mermaid's tears, a façade put in place to hide our Mr. Hyde's from view. We don't honestly care for these strangers, simply feel a lingering pity and nothing more. This is because we do not recognize them as precious to us, as our roots.
Why should we care if the wood rots?
"—All names have been withheld, in order to retain student privacy. In other news…"
Click.
I watched as the screen flashed, flattening to a single line of white before the screen went black. The television set was old, and so a vague green dot remained in the center of the screen even after life-giving electricity was cut off.
I uncrossed my legs, pulling them from beneath me, knees brought up and pulled against my chest, toes wriggling within long striped socks. All around me were boxes and bags, piles and stacks of them creating a haphazard maze of the apartment I lived in. I nudged at one trash bag with my foot, feeling at the bulging contents, leg drawn back when the bag gave a protest and fell onto its side.
It was littered with white, slashing letters, those lines of white-out crackling a bit.
'Salvation Army'. Our old clothes, then.
We needed to move quickly, he had said, to avoid any retaliation from the community for what we had done. So, a depressing hour had been spent rifling through drawers and closets, tossing away anything that wasn't completely necessary.
We could always get more, after all. Still, I couldn't help feeling miserable as shorts and t-shirts were tossed aside and folded, because the action just drove home the fact that we were being forced to leave what I had called home for all of my life.
My roots were rotting, you see. I was one of those poor souls who were picked for the yearly quota of misery in the world.
Given, it could have been worse, infinitely worse. Everything could have been taken from me; he could have been thrown in jail if people had actually found out beyond the rumours spreading.
Every night, I thanked that woman in my mind, the principal who had spoken with us and advised a transfer for us both lest things get out of hand. I remember standing there, right in front of that religiously polished desk, staring hard at the papers on the surface as the one beside me spoke with the one seated.
It was difficult to swallow, and even harder to look up at the taller man next to me, to meet those hazel eyes and know that this entire situation was my fault.
Not that he ever said such, no. No blame was ever exchanged; both of us preferring to ignore what had caused this unfortunate circumstance and move on with our lives.
I'm not sure we could have fought about it and survived.
I looked up from the white-out letters when I heard the door open down the hall, pushing myself to my feet to peek out of the room, sighing a bit as I saw the front door was left wide open.
Meizu was coming towards me then, tugging at a scruffy ponytail to right it, glancing up at me as he made for the boxes.
"Truck's here. Wanna get off your girly ass and move some of this crap?"
I grinned despite myself, head shaking a little as I followed him towards the piles, arms placed innocently behind my back.
"What's wrong? You three don't have enough muscle between you?"
"Maybe you'd have a little more if you would actually lift something."
"And ruin my figure? Puh-leeze."
It was typical, almost sibling-like banter, us going back and forth like this, a teasing persiflage that would escalate until we were on the floor, wrestling and attempting to pin the other. Meizu usually won, from sheer size in comparison to me, and it was long ago established that kicking wasn't allowed in these fights.
A pity, because the only muscle I had was in my damn legs.
I'll tell you another thing, too. It's really, really difficult to retain any semblance of dignity while rolling around like that in a pleated skirt. Or any type of skirt, for that matter, I suppose. I wouldn't know, since I haven't exactly done a goddamn study on it.
So there we were, fighting over whether or not I would have to lift anything more than my own backpack, his arm around my neck in a chokehold—that damn wrestling maniac and his championships—skirt around my hips and everything.
A pretty awkward scene to come walking into, I don't doubt it. Then again, considering this activity was done almost religiously, it didn't pose much of a surprise to the other two when they came inside to find out what was taking so long.
Gozu had the decency to grimace, at the very least, shaking his head in mild horror at how childish his brother could behave when left alone with a cross-dressing teenager. He was always the boring one, I would tell him, scolding him for being too damn serious all the time.
He would, in turn, tell me I was a lazy brat who'd be better off as a doll than a human being.
This is probably true. I would be better off as a doll. I like being pretty, and I love being played with. The latter comment typically reserved for one person. Though I distinctly remember flirting my way into getting free lunches at school when I was a kid. Ah, fun times, I tell you.
"Haku, get off of him, will you?" those words had me on my feet in an instant, replacing the cloth of my skirt over my butt where it belonged. I grinned at the two in the doorway as Meizu grabbed onto my hand to pull himself up, before moving off to pick up a box of God-knows-what.
"He insulted my figure, you know."
"Heaven forbid," came the reply from my guardian, the man shaking his head almost wearily. I had been especially annoying as of late, I know. It's what happens whenever I get embarrassed or ashamed of something I'd done. I act loudly, so to speak. So I made it my duty, in the days spent packing up, to be as irritating a chit as I could, to make up for making us move like this in the first place.
I suppose it'd be easier to understand if I actually said what the hell was going on, wouldn't it?
See, talk spreads pretty damn fast if you're an effeminate boy. It spreads even faster if you happen to like other boys and wear skirts. I already had three strikes going for me, before people began realizing how often I spent time with our math teacher. Considering I'm less than spectacular at anything harder than multiplication, for a while I had the excuse going of 'extra help'. But then, people started to realize that I went home with this man every day, and was dropped off every day by said man.
Guardian, shmardian, they'd whisper to each other. Something else was going on here, and they were right.
Thus we found ourselves here, amidst a jungle of cardboard, because polite society doesn't take too kindly to a professional teacher living with a student, if you know what I mean.
Anyway, considering the looks I was getting, I decided to quit my little game and get my ass in gear, so to speak. I took up the bag that I had kicked over earlier and began hauling it outside, to where one of those rental trucks was waiting. The rest of the process was relatively silent, broken only by muffled grunts of exertion and the sound of objects being dropped and rearranged to fit in the back of the truck.
Finally, all that I had left was my pack, that hanging over my shoulder by a worn strap, and all four of us were looking up at the door of the apartment we had just emptied. Finally, the silence was broken by Zabuza, the first to turn away.
"Let's get going. I don't want to have to stop at some motel."
We began piling into cars then, Zabuza and I taking over the truck of stuff, Meizu and Gozu handling the car and bike respectively. My pack was set down on the floor of the cabin, held in place by my ankles. I frowned, noting a scuff mark on the black leather of my boot, and rubbed at the surface to try and get it off.
"Got Stewpot?" came the inquiry to my left, and I looked up from my boot long enough to nod, before the engine was turned on and we were on our way. I had been careful to stuff poor old Stewpot into my pack before anything else, so I knew I didn't leave him behind. He was looking rather worse for the wear lately, what was once fluffy white fur now rather matted and grey-ish. Like a shirt that had been worn and washed far too many times. Plus, I had the sneaking suspicion that his eye was about to fall off.
It was something that Gozu used to tease me about constantly, keeping a toy rabbit like Stewpot around. He called it stupid, for a kid my age to still sleep with a stuffed toy at night. My reaction was always the same. I'd kick him in the shin.
It's amazing, for a man who lectures about maturity so much, to sound so much the soprano when in pain.
"Good. I don't want to get halfway there and have you shrieking that you'd left him behind."
"Oh, but you like it when I shriek."
"Not right in my ear while I'm trying to dodge the Hummers."
"Mmph." It's amazing, how easily we take to monosyllabic grunts when we don't know what else to say. I've noticed a pattern in certain people, really. Mine was more the murder of a biting retort that my brain realizes only seconds before it's released that saying such a thing is a really bad idea.
I said "mmph" a lot around Zabuza.
He tended to "Hn" whenever he couldn't come up with a point, which was usually his way of losing an argument with some grace. Meizu just liked to say "bah" when he didn't give a damn about what you were spouting off, one way or the other. Gozu would make a "tch" sound and walk away shaking his head.
"We'll have to write in for a bus pass when we get there." I looked up from my boot again, frowning a bit at the elder beside me, confused to say the least.
"Bus pass? For what?"
"For you, what else? You wanna be able to catch the damn thing by the time school rolls around, don't you?"
Again, I frowned, before realization set in, and I was sitting back in the seat, moving to stare out the window. Well, of course. The apartment we were jumping to was too far from the local school for me to walk every morning and afternoon without killing myself. It was the same at Kiri, though I had always jumped onto the bucket seat of Zabuza's motorcycle, so I had never needed the bus.
But we needed to play things safe this time around, which meant no more bucket seat, and no doubt this was his attempt to dive into that subject with some subtlety. Also known as 'keep the little boy from throwing a hissy fit'.
Oh, language, how I love your vague intricacies. If I wasn't such a fucking genius, I'd be pretty tired of not knowing what the hell he was getting at. Even so, I felt like throwing a hissy fit despite all of Zabuza's attempts to avoid one. Just to spite him, because I was feeling pretty damn miserable right then. But you remember my explanation of "mmph." Saying anything then would likely just explode, and I'd be left feeling even worse.
You know those moments. I'm sure you've had at least one, where nothing seems to be going your way, the world seems to be out to get you, and all you want to do is grab the person nearest to you and cause them as much pain as possible. It doesn't matter if you're in love with them or not, all you want is to be the Hurter instead of the Hurt. But every time you act on those urges, it explodes in your face, and all you're left with is the knowledge that you just acted the complete bitch, and you still don't feel better.
I really didn't want him to yell at me. So I kept my mouth shut, ("For once," I could imagine Meizu saying,) and stared out the window as the world became less and less familiar.