Until I met you
A/N: Hey people, this is my second story, and my first attempt at writing an angst genre. I was originally writing a story with another author, and was going to upload this as a chapter for that, but I haven't heard from them in many months so I can only assume that they've changed their mind, and I quite like how this turned out, so rather then leave it to waste I thought I'd change the original story idea and do something with it, so here we go. Feel free to let me know what you think ^_^/ I apologise in advance for any spelling/grammar mistakes, I'll fix them as I see them unless you guys beat me to it, lol. Enjoy!
Roxas' home life is far from ideal, abused and beaten by his foster father, unable to escape his controlling grasp and neglected by his foster mother and sister, he doesn't know how he can go on; until he meets Axel, a tall, mysterious, badass looking red head, with emerald cat like eyes and an attitude to match. He, too, sharing an equally abusive past.
Can the two find love, hope and perhaps freedom from their daily tortures, or are they both destined to meet a grim end? After all, can one person really make a difference enough to change someone's' life?
Chapter One: Alone in the World:
"Roxas, what happened to your face?" I automatically cringed at Olettes' question; her bright green eyes drowned with worry as she noticed the bruising on my left cheek. I tried so hard to cover it this morning with my foster sister's foundation, until the purple blotch of freshly broken blood vessels was dulled down to a meek grey. Not that I'm usually the type to wear foundation, but it seemed like a better thing to do then let everyone see the handy work of my foster father's fist.
Obviously Olettes' piercing eyes couldn't be fooled.
I gingerly touched my cheek with the tip of my fingers, being careful not to press too hard and irritate it further.
"Its' fine Olette, really, I'm ok" I replied, my blue eyes timidly meeting Olettes' as I tried to give her a reassuring smile. Obviously even that couldn't fool her.
"No you are not alright; I can see it in your eyes. He did this to you, didn't he?"
That was the scary thing about Olette. I'd known her since before I could remember; back when my real parents were still alive. She'd known me so long that all it took was one glance and she'd immediately know something was wrong.
"It wasn't that bad, honestly. We got into an argument and I just popped off. I shouldn't have said what I said; I knew it would make him angrier. Olette sighed sadly. "Oh Roxas, you can't keep doing this".
Okay, maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. Perhaps I should explain. When I was six years old my parents were killed on a night out to celebrate their anniversary. They'd just gotten into their car and were attacked by a group of men, members of one of the local street gangs that terrorised the area. They'd taken part in a robbery of some sort, and needed a get away car. My parents' were the first and easiest target they came across. It all happened so quickly, and before my dad could react one of them smashed through the door window before dragging him out and shooting him. They shot my mother for screaming. The last thing they needed was to draw any more attention to where they were.
My mom died straight away, but my dad held on until the ambulance got to the hospital, but by then he'd lost too much blood.
Obviously I wasn't told all of the details until years later when I was considered old enough to take it. In the mean time I lived with my grandparents. My granddad died when I was nine, and my grandma a year later. There were no immediate family members left for me to go to, seeing as my parents had no siblings, so I was forced into care. I spent an unbearable two years there before I was adopted by a seemingly nice family. That was until my teen years, when I realised that I was into guys. My foster mother and sister were shocked but they seemed to accept it, my foster father however-well, lets' just say that homophobic was an understatement; Hence the constant arguments, the fights, the fists. Daily he'd curse whatever deities out there for cursing him with a gay foster son. I tried to keep out of his way as much as possible. My foster mother and sister were no longer allowed to acknowledge me much whenever he was around. The only time I'd be relatively safe from his hatred and anger was when I was out of sight.
So here I am working in Twilight Town Café with Olette, where I spend as much time as I possible can, doing whatever over time is available; anything just to keep away from the house as much as possible. I also want to save up to get my own place, but at sixteen I still have a few years to go before I can legally move out and live on my own; Stupid laws. I met Olette again when I got a job at the café. She works seasonal shifts and only came back to Twilight Town for the summer. I'd really missed having a friend around. At first she hadn't known about my problems with my foster father, until she started noticing my sudden fondness for foundation, although some bruises were harder to cover then others. I'd also taken to wearing long sleeved shirts, even on hot days.
I guess you're wondering why my foster mom hadn't gone to the police? Well, I guess you could say it was many things; an attempt not to make things worse, fear, cowardice? You see, my foster father had become someone she didn't know. Perhaps inwardly she blamed me for it, so she didn't necessarily mind turning a blind eye once in while, as long as he kept his temper away from her and her daughter.
So here I was, once again having a complicated conversion with Olette about a subject I really didn't want to talk about.
"Roxas, you can't keep letting him do this to you, its' not right".
"Just drop it, okay? I'm doing what I can, just leave it" I snapped, turning away as my eyes prickled with tears.
Its' not as if I hadn't tried to tell people, but when HE found out he insisted in his sickly fake sympathetic way that I was adopted and had had a hard life and had been in care, so naturally I was a little screwed up-or in his words, deprived on understanding of natural social standards; therefore I tended to lash out at random people at school or on the streets or on an odd occasion self harmed, hence the bruising, cuts and grazes on my arms. Complete and utter bullshit, but of course with my history being in care and his reputation as a well known 'kind and respectable doctor' people had obviously believed him, then I'd get smacked around again back at the house afterwards for trying to tell people that HE was in the wrong. My foster mom and sister would stay away while he was doing this, but I'm pretty sure that there have been occasions where they could hear my cries of pain and thumps of either me, house objects or furniture hitting the ground through the walls. If I try to run away I get caught and taken back where the beatings would continue.
Olettes' lucky, she only has to hang around here while she's working, the rest of the time she gets to live in student accommodations at her college; Independent, free.
Of course my foster father wouldn't allow that. "There's' no place in the world for fags, so what use is a college education?" he'd growl, before hitting me again. I've tried to tell him that I'd be out his way if I was at college, but he wouldn't agree to it. I guess he just likes to have someone around to take his anger out on. At least, that's the only excuse I can think of.
I quickly wiped my eyes with the back of my hand as I started to collect empty plates from the tables. The café had closed an hour ago, but I was still determined to make the place as spotless as I could, giving me more time away from that house. Unfortunately for me, Olette didn't miss my actions; her eyes softened.
"Oh, Roxas I'm sorry. I just get so worried about you, that's all" she said, placing a hand tenderly on my shoulder. I kept my irritated gaze. Even thought I knew she meant well, I hated that overly sympathetic tone of voice she often gave me.
"I'm fine, Olette, really. Hey, shouldn't you be getting home to finish that paper you were set for college?" I said, forcing a smile on my face. An obvious way to change the subject I know, but for once I wanted her to take the hint. "Alright" Olette sighed. "Hey, how about we go out and do something fun. Maybe while we're out you'll meet some hot guys" she said with a cheeky wink. I laughed a little, but tried not to make myself sound too bitter. "Yeah, I'm sure my foster father would love that." I noticed her eyes narrow slightly; clearly she'd noticed the bitter tone in my voice anyway. I felt bad for hurting her, but its' not like she would have kept her promise anyway. She was always too busy, or something always 'came up' at the last minute.
"Yeah, that'd be great" I said despite myself, this time managing a more convincing smile. It obviously worked this time as I saw her eyes brighten again.
"Okay, great, I'll see you soon Roxas!" Olette said, smiling softly. She met my gaze and hesitated for a second, before turning away and heading for the door. Just as she was about to leave she paused at the doorway. "Are you sure you'll be alright finishing the dishes?"
"Yes! For the last time I'll be fine! Now get out of here student!" I said, trying to sound playful, throwing a tea towel at her. Olette laughed and turned to leave saying "okay, okay, I'll see you later housewife". I stuck my tongue out at her and she laughed again, waved and finally left the café; Heading back home to her nice warm bed living under a roof with people who actually cared about her. I sighed sadly, a lone tear running down my cheek. I wiped it away angrily; crying wasn't going to solve anything.
It was past eleven when I had finally run out of excuses to stay at the café. The entire place was spotless, not even a speck of grease clung to the side of the cookers. The floors and surfaces were so clean and shiny you could have eaten off of them. Luckily my manager wasn't here, or else she would have tossed me out of here already. I sighed sadly, taking one last look around, ensuring that I'd locked every door and window-I even checked them all twice, just to make sure, before switching off of the lights and locking the front doors, ready to return again tomorrow morning at seven.
As always I felt the chest clenching fear of a drowning person letting go of their safety rope as I trudged away from the café into the eerily empty streets back to the house where I stayed. I can't exactly call it 'home' or say 'where I live' because to me it isn't home, and I try to keep away from there as much as possible. I hated walking back there, particularly at night time. I'd been followed by weird people before, sometimes even the odd person in a car-or so it seemed. Perhaps I was just being paranoid. Still, I found myself jumping at every flickering shadow under the dim yellow lights of the lampposts standing parallel to each other on the opposite sides of the street. I could feel my heart rate increase, enough to feel each individual heart beat thump against my chest, my eyes darting in all directions whilst trying to walk at a decent pace without having to run. After all, I wasn't going to be any safer back at the house then what I was out here, so what was the point in hurrying back? Sometimes I wasn't sure if it'd be any worse to get mugged or murdered or worse out here in the streets. At least out here my ending would probably be quick. After all, the person would take what they want then get away before anyone witnessed anything, wouldn't they? Where as at home, it wouldn't matter as much…
I finally reached the drive of my foster families' house, my heart rate increasing even more. I breathed a shaky sigh, trying to calm myself before I entered the house. I didn't like him to feel powerful by making seeing me shake with fear. Hopefully he was in bed and I wouldn't have to worry. I'd just rush in, quickly go upstairs and lock myself in my room before sneaking out tomorrow morning for work.
I opened the door as quietly as I could and was surprised to come face to face with my foster sister who was standing at the bottom of the stairs. She paused mid step and looked at me, surprised. Technically his rules were that you weren't allowed to wander around the house after a certain time at night. You had to stay in your room, so that meant no typical trips to the bathroom or down to the kitchen if you wanted a glass of water or something, but we were always jumpy when going down to the kitchen at night, because if he ever caught us the whole house would waken from his shouting and accusing us of stealing extra food past set meal times, like selfish greedy, ungrateful, disrespectful children that we were; Very patronising for teenagers of sixteen. She gave me a meek smile. "Hi" she mumbled.
"Hi" I replied quietly.
We used to get on so well, until I made the mistake of 'coming out'. I sometimes missed our times together, but bitterness would seep Back into my veins when I remembered the person she'd become; someone who would drop me like a hot stone whenever her father found the need to attack me physically or verbally to save her own skin. I guess everyone had their own ways of coping and surviving with certain situations. Remembering our old times together sent a familiar pang of loneliness flow through me, but I pushed that feeling deep down. She wasn't really worth it, not anymore. Still, we were on decent terms, even though we'd been forced to grow apart; we didn't exactly hate each other. "Have you only just finished?" she asked me softly, so as not to wake the asshole upstairs. "Yeah, we had a lot to do today" I lied with a shrug, trying to act casual. "Oh" she said simply as our eyes met briefly before we avoided our gazes awkwardly. After a little while she said "I-um- was just going to get some camomile tea, I can't sleep. Do you, um, wanna join me? We haven't been able to-um-talk recently, have we?" This invitation surprised me. For weeks she'd been too afraid to even look at me, especially with the last fight I'd had with her dad. So why did she want to talk now? I really just wanted to run to my room and bolt the door. That's the only was I'd feel safer in this house. Unfortunately, the thought of gong into the kitchen mad me realise just how hungry I was. I hadn't eaten since my break at five earlier in the afternoon. Talk about bad timing. My stomach rumbled before I had a chance to say anything. My foster sister laughed softly. "Come on, we can grab something to eat, too" she said, gently taking my hand. I flinched away despite myself. At first she looked a little alarmed, but then gave me an apologetic smile. A pang of guilt ran through me, but this was more kindness and acknowledgement then what I received in a long time. It was just so unusually rare that I didn't trust it much. "I'm sorry" she said in almost a whisper.
"Its fine" I replied, smiling meekly, starting to follow her into the kitchen. I dumped my bag next to a chair and stood next to the kitchen table awkwardly, wrapping my arms around myself whilst looking around nervously. My foster sister put the lights on low-luckily we had dimmer switches- before rummaging around in the cupboards, trying to be as quiet as possible. I was surprised that her dad hadn't put timed locks on the cupboards already. After careful rummaging she remerged from the cupboard with a box of Lucky Charms; something her dad obviously didn't eat, so he probably wouldn't notice if the box went missing.
"Improve yer luck with some Irish goodness" my sister said, with the best corny Irish accent she could come up with, waving the box to show a brightly coloured leprechaun on the front as if it was he who was speaking. I laughed without thinking, before stopping suddenly to check for any noises to suggest that we'd woken up the beast. To our relief all was quiet. We both calmed down as my foster sister brought out two bowls. We decided to eat the cereal dry in case he noticed that the milk carton was emptier then the last time he'd used it. It just made the cereal taste much sweeter without the milk to dull down the flavour a little, but when you have an empty stomach, anything is good enough.
"Full of sugary goodness, a dentists' worst enemy" I said, trying to mimic my own corny Irish accent; my sister laughed softly. "Tis' good fer what ales yeh" she replied in the same crappy accent.
We both laughed softy. This is how things were years ago, having fun over silly things, before things became complicated. Although I hated to admit it to myself, deep down I'd missed moments like these. We began talking, just about the usual things, how she was getting on at college, whether I was enjoying working at the café etc. We'd laugh out loud now and then, until we'd fearfully remember the need to be quiet. I really wished that I could be normal like this around people. To have someone I could talk to without fear or becoming an inconvenience. All I really wanted was a friend, as pathetic as that sounds. Unfortunately, I knew that this would be short lived. When we'd finished with out food and drinks- we'd decided that tap water was the best option, because there were no cartons to measure by, and no noise from the boiling kettle-my sister began to quietly rinse the bowls with water, filling then slightly and wiping them with a soapy sponge, rather then leave the water running; anything to minimise the noise as much as possible. All I wanted to do now was to get some sleep. It was one in the morning, and I was so tired. I offered to dry the bowls after my foster sister had washed them, but just as she handed me the bowl it slipped from my fingers. We watched horrified as the bowl appeared to fall in slow motion, our bodies frozen in fear, my heart palpating from horror filled anticipation of possible consequences of what would happen once the sound of shattering pottery filled the room. I made a desperate grab in an attempt to catch it - I missed, and the bowl continued to fall until it shattered as it hit the floor. We both froze and stared at each other wide eyed, listening intently for a noise from upstairs. Was that a thump? I could feel the colour drain from my face; my foster sister looked equally pale. I don't know why she was so frightened, if her dad found us, it'd be me at the end of his fist.
My heart rammed painfully against my chest. After a few second of horrified silence, we bent down and began to frantically pick up the shattered pieces.
Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, my pulse increased, as did the sound of his footsteps.
Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, much faster now, he's at the bottom of the stairs; my stomach twisted in a great knot, I can already feel bile rushing to my throat. I began to tremble; a whimper escaped my foster sisters' throat.
Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, forget clearing the mess, maybe I can use a big piece of the broken cereal bowl as a back up weapon until I can reach the knife draw…
Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum ba-dum…..
"You still haven't learned your lesson, have you fag?" a nasty voice sneered. I clutched the pieces of pottery in my hand so hard it hurt, my hand now dampened with what was probably blood as well as sweat from fear. I let out a shaky sighand squeezed my eyes shut as I heard his feet thumping against the kitchen floor. A chair clashed to the ground loudly as he pushed it out of his way. My foster sister whimpered again, a little louder this time as she stood up and pushed herself against the kitchen work top.
I was dragged up by the back of my collar before my foster father roughly turned me round and punched me square in the face. I grunted in pain as my body flew back a little, ramming into the edge of the worktop. My foster sister let out a scream, putting a hand to her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide and teary with horror.
"I GIVE YOU SHELTER!" he yelled, grabbing me roughly by the arm and throwing me into the kitchen table. "I GIVE YOU FOOD!" he snarled, kicking me to the floor. I fell hard, cracking my head against the floor, the pain searing through my skull, temporarily blurring my vision. Pain filled tears whelmed up in my eyes; Involuntary of course. If he ever thought I was crying, it'd only be worse for me. My foster sister screamed again "STOP! DAD! STOP!"
"YOU JUST SHUT YOUR MOUTH AND GET OUT OF HERE YOU LITTLE SKANK!" he bellowed at her, tipping the table in her direction. She screamed again and covered her face as the table flew towards her, chairs flying with it. One of the chairs cracked across her arms and legs. Tears fell down her face as she managed to jump over the fallen table and towards the kitchen door as her fathers' attention turned back towards me.
I gave her a pleading, almost desperate look. "Please, please don't leave me" I said hoarsely. I know it was selfish of me; the attack would probably have been much shorter if she was in the room; although he did seem much angrier this time. He'd never thrown anything at his daughter before. Still, I was hoping that she could get him to stop if he started taking things too far. Hearing my desperate plea she stopped in her tracks, looking back at me regretfully. That helpless look in her eyes told me that I'd have to deal with this alone, again. I never should have stayed up with her. I could be safe in my room right now, but no; I had to listen to her. The only one who would be able to easily escape if things went wrong.
Bitch.
"I'm sorry" she mumbled, tears running down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry" and with that she turned and left. I could hear her pounding up the stairs as fast as she could despite her injuries.
"GET UPYOU USELESS PIECE OF SHIT!" the daemon of a foster father yelled, kicking me in the ribs. I cried out in pain, curling into the foetal position as I clutched my side. He bent down and grabbed my hair, pulling me up with him. I screamed out in pain, and awful sharp sting cracking through my side like a bolt of thunder as he yanked me up.
"I GIVE YOU MORE THEN YOU DESERVE, AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME! BY STEALING MY FOOD, USING MY THINGS THAT I BUY WITH MY MONEY WHEN YOU HAVE NO PERMISSION DOING SO! BUT NO, YOU HAVE TO BE A GREEDY LITTLE SHIT AND TAKE MORE FROM ME! IF BEING GAY ISN'T ENOUGH, YOU HAVE TO BE THEIF, TOO! AND YOU'VE BROKEN SOME OF MY THINGS! I'LL TEACH YOU SOME FUCKING RESPECT!" he bellowed, shaking me harshly with each sentence. He punched my once more, blood bursting from my nose and lip, spilling over his knuckles, but he merely wiped it off onto his shirt. He threw me away from him in disgust so that I fell painfully to the floor once more; the sharp piece of pottery-my only defensive weapon- flew from my hand. "KEEP YOUR FILTHY SCUM BLOOD AWAY FROM ME YOU WORTHLESS –kick- DIRTY-kick-DISCUSTING-kick-SHIT!" I screamed with each precise kick. He kept hitting me in the same spot as earlier, pain practically immobilising me as I lay on the ground, my whole body trembling in agony. He had his boots on. Obviously he'd dressed in day clothes for the occasion. After all, what effect would a good kicking be bare footed? He must have gone through all of the sick and twisted things he was going to do to me even before he left his bedroom.
"You just don't learn, do you, you little fuck?" he snarled, opening a closet near the doorway as I lay on the floor in pain. I tried with all my might to use every bit of adrenalin in my body to force myself to sit up, still clutching my side as he came towards my with a baseball bat. My eyes widened with horror, and despite my earlier promise to myself, I couldn't help but shed a few fearful tears as he strode towards me, with an expression of pure hatred and his self sense of power. He'd never had a baseball bat before; he'd obviously bought it for this kind of occasion. I quickly scanned around the room, looking for scissors, a knife, anything to use in defence. I painfully pulled myself up to the level of a cutlery draw, managing to grab onto a large kitchen knife-the kind used for cutting pieces of meat. The evil man laughed at me. "You're not man enough to use that on me" he sneered, before lunging towards me with the bat. I stepped aside just in time to miss the blow. He swung the bat towards me again, and this time his swing hit its target. I screamed as it came into contact with my thigh. This time I couldn't stop the tears from escaping. I crumpled closer to the ground, all of my body weight supported by my remaining good leg, watching in horror as he lifted the bat again. I instinctively lashed out, slashing his arm with a knife, which took its first taste of blood.
The man yelled, clutching his wound before whacking the knife out of my hand. "YOU'LL PAY FOR THAT YOU SON OF A BITCH!" he yelled, before aiming with another blow with the bat now held in his good arm.
"BASTARD!" I shouted at him through a mouthful of blood. I didn't care if I was gonna really get it this time, not now. I didn't really care about anything anymore. Its not like I would be missed anyway, I was sure of it. I'd just be an inconvenience finally taken out of the way and everyone could get on with their lives. A big relief to my foster mother and sister I'm sure.
I braced myself, waiting for the finally blow. Suddenly I heard a woman scream, stopping the murderer in his tracks; "STOP! STOP IT NOW! YOU'LL KILL HIM!"
I panted heavily, looking at my temporary saviour, my body trembling uncontrollably. To my surprise I saw my foster mother and sister standing in the doorway looking horrified, my foster sister sobbing.
"GET BACK UPSTAIRS NOW!" my attacker bellowed at them.
"NO! He's had enough. Just leave him be, you'll kill him!"
"ITS NOTHING LESS THEN WHAT THE LITTLE BASTARD DESERVES!" He yelled, obviously outraged that his wife had spoken back and disobeyed him in the space of two minutes. She'd never done that before. He turned his attention back to me and once again lifted the baseball bat. I summoned all of the remaining strength and bravery within me to glare back at him as he prepared to deliver the final blow to my head. I figured it'd be a little better to die bravely then curled up begging for mercy. Suddenly, just as the bat was about to come down on me, my foster sister ran in the way, holding her arms out to act as a barrier. "NO DAD! NO!" She cried. Unfortunately for her, her dad was in mid swing at the time, so the bat came down on her arm, causing her to take the full force of the blow. The sickening crunching sound made my stomach turn. Her scream of pain and her mothers' horrified one sent a chill through my spine. Of all the days and nights of abuse, I think this one would be one that would haunt me forever. Still, as selfish as it was of me to think this, at least her sacrifice made the raging attempted murderer finally stop his attack. He looked almost shocked at his actions and dropped the bat, fishing a hand through his hair. His wife rushed past him to aid her daughter. There was no comforting to be spared for me.
"It's your stupid fault, if you hadn't gotten in the way-"
"Did you even think of the consequences of you actions? You could have killed him! The police would have gotten involved for that. I'd be surprised if the neighbours haven't already called them with everything that you've done! And now this! You've broken her arm!" His wife screamed at him. I just lay there, my whole body throbbing. 'Oh sure' I thought bitterly. 'My foster sister getting her arm broken is the worst thing that has happened tonight. The fact the he almost killed me this time makes no difference, never mind a worthless little fag like me'.
"Roxas, get out of here!" My foster mother yelled as she tried to tend to her daughters' arm. Both of them were crying, my foster sister now looking very pale and shaky. 'How they hell am I supposed to go anywhere?' I thought angrily; 'what were they expecting me to do, crawl off and die somewhere?'
"IT'S THAT LITTLE BASTARDS' FAULT! HE DISOBEYED MY RULES, AGAIN!" The man tried to argue.
"Roxas, just get out of here now!" My foster mother yelled again, obviously sensing her husband's anger rising once more. Using every ounce of strength that I had left in my body I grabbed my work bag which had moved to the corner of the kitchen after my foster father had tipped the table and chairs and left the house with incredible difficulty, using a large umbrella from the door for support as I walked.
I made my way into the street, not being able to hold the tears back any more. I've put up with a lot of shit these past few years, but tonight was defiantly the worst so far. I just didn't know what to do. The nearest hospital was miles away, defiantly not a comfortable walking distance, especially with the injuries that I had. I stumbled down the street, subconsciously heading to my workplace, the only place I felt completely safe, away from everything. Although despite this I was certain that I wouldn't be able to work for a while. I was certain that that bastard had broken some of my ribs. Every step I took sent a sharp stabbing pain to shoot up my sides, my breathing was laborious but I was too scared to stop. This time I didn't think about muggers and the like, I was too busy thinking whether my foster father was going to come after me and finish the job, without my foster mother to interfere. In my mind I could hear his thumping footsteps, feel a large hand wrapped around my throat or something crashing against my head I shuddered at the thoughts, which were more like predictions based on passed memories. Because of this, my fear was strong enough to keep me going, despite the pain I was in. I guess you could call it survivor's instinct. I was exhausted by the time I approached the café. Daylight was just breaking across the horizon, slowly peeling back the blackness of the night. Early birds welcomed the dawn with their morning chorus. Unfortunately I wasn't able to enjoy this as much as what I probably would have done, normally I would have found this soothing, lying in bed listening to nature's soft wake up call, but my entire chest and lungs were burning and throbbing terribly. Part of me started to wonder if I sat down would I ever get back up again. I could still taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth; I desperately needed a drink. I knew that there was a brook not too far away behind the café. Not the most hygienic place to wash and drink, but I figured it would have to do. I checked my trouser pockets, but remembered that I'd left my keys back at the house. They were probably on the kitchen floor somewhere, having landed there when that psycho tipped the table. I wasn't planning on going back there anytime soon, but unfortunately my work keys were on the same bunch, so I wasn't able to shelter myself inside the café. I'd have to wait until some of the others came to start work for the day.
Gasping for breath, I almost gladly fell to my knees, panting heavily; now I could finally rest my aching body, knowing that for a moment I was free. I shakily forced my muscles to move forward towards the brook, gratefully cupping water my hand and raising it to my lips, swilling the blood out before spitting away the water; my mouth stinging at the cold sensation. I winced as I took another mouthful before swallowing the water this time, although I could still taste blood. I tried to wash my face, ignoring the stinging sensation from the cuts across my mouth, cheek and the side of my head as I did so. I was suddenly overwhelmed with tiredness, my eyes feeling as heavy a lead, making it hard to keep them open. Using my bag as a pillow, I slowly leaned over, leaning on the side that the psycho hadn't kicked in and fell to sleep almost immediately.
During this time, I had a very strange dream.
I was very young, and sitting with my mother at the end of a pier by the sea, looking out at the beautiful fiery gold colours of a sunset, admiring the calm ocean waves which were sparkling beautifully as if they were littered with tiny diamonds. I looked up at my mother, admiring her beautiful wavy blond hair which rippled down her back, almost like a mermaids'. She was wearing a long tropical coloured summer dress, but for some reason I couldn't make out the details of her face; nothing more then a blur. Normally this would send a pang of sadness and regret through me, even when I was awake, as I had actually started to forget what my parents had looked like. I didn't have any photos' after all. I was taken to the care home with only a few items of clothing. I don't know what happened to my other things. However in my dream I was content with simply sitting beside her, feeling the warmth of her hand entwined with mine and listening to her voice. I was grateful not to have forgotten that at least. Well, I think that's how she sounded…
'Mommy, where are you?' I asked innocently, looking up at her. Of course I couldn't see, but somehow I knew she was smiling. 'What do you mean Roxas? I'm right here with you' she said, as if I'd asked something unusual and cute.
'No, I mean when you're not here with me watching the sunset, where do you go?' Her eyes were that of a secret keeper, soft and gentle with a kind yet sad smile – at least that's how I imagined her reaction to be. 'I go to the safe place' she replied gently. 'Where's that?' I asked, my brows creasing in confusion. She hummed softly and smiled in response, gently running a hand through my hair in a comforting manner. 'Well, in the safe place the trees are greener, and move almost as if they themselves are speaking, the sun is always bright, blanketing the world with a golden glow and bird song can be heard everywhere. At night the stars decorate the skies like jewels and look so close you could almost touch them, and the moon lights up the sky like a night time sun, sweeping the world in a cloak of silver. Fire flies dance across fields like little lanterns, and people live peacefully and content. It's everything a person could every dream about and more'
'Why aren't you always with me? Have I been bad?' I asked. The secret place sounded nice, but why would she rather be there then here taking care of me? Was her own son not important enough? I imagined her eyes to soften sadly, regret filling in her beautiful pools of blue. 'Oh sweetheart' she said, pulling me towards her in a comforting hug. 'It's not that, it's just that at some point in a person's life they have to go to the safe place, whether they want to or not, it's not that you've been bad or that I don't want to be with you, it's just something that people have to do eventually.'
'Oh' I said sadly, looking down at my knees, before an idea occurred to me.
'Can I come with you?' I asked, suddenly very hopeful, clutching to her dress. 'If I come with you to the secret place then you can live there and take care of me at the same time'. It made perfect sense to me, why didn't she think of doing that the first time? She now pouted, almost heartbroken as if she were abandoning a pup that desperately wanted to follow her home. 'Oh sweetheart' she said again, hugging me tighter. Even though I was six I knew what was coming. 'I wish I could, but only certain people can go to the secret place, that's why it's a secret. People who don't live there can't go.'
'But why? I want to stay with you! Just tell me what I have to do! I need you!'
'Sweetheart, if I could take you with me I would do it in a heartbeat', she said, now gently rocking me as bitter tears flowed down my face as I clutched onto her dress firmer, enough to make my hands ache. It was strange how it really did feel as though my hands were aching. 'No matter how tough things become, you can't rely on me all the time. When you're ready you can come back with me, but for now there are still lessons for you to learn, still things that you need to do. Once you have we will be waiting, me and your father. We will come to take you with us.'
We were now standing on the peer, the sun just barely peering over the horizon, the skies plunging into a starless darkness. Suddenly my body ached terribly, as if her words had really wounded me, I trembled in her arms, my legs suddenly unable to support my body. I was so weary, I was feeling weaker by the second, yet I was determined to hold onto my mother. A far off voice called to me but I ignored it, I wanted to stay with my mother. 'No, don't go mommy, don't leave. I can learn things in the secret place; I don't need to be here- I don't want to be here.' I shivered; my hold on my mothers dress began to weaken no matter how much I wanted to hold on. 'I'm sorry' she whispered softly, as she let go of me and walked away into the darkness. I reached out to her and cried for her to come back, but she was gone. A sudden rush of fear swept through me as I tried to give chase, but the wooden planks of the peer gave way with a nasty splintering sound, memories of wood striking skin flashed trough my mind as I fell into the sea, extremely cold water slammed into my body, but still I refused to give up. I struggled to the edge of the water and tried to chase my mother, but my body hurt terribly, I trembled from the cold, so much my muscles ached, and still the voice from before kept calling me, calling me back to the place where I wasn't safe, where I was alone and no-one wanted me, where pain was all knew.
'-xas!'
I groaned, the dream fading and my sub-consciousness returning slowly. I was no longer at the peer, I was no longer on the beach; I was somewhere hard and cold, and painful.
'Roxas!' the voice cried again. Wait, I know that voice, don't I?
I groaned, as the awful memories of why I was lying on the ground came back to me, why I couldn't move, and why I was so cold. It had started to rain. I could feel the soft pats of the sky water tap, tap, taping into my sore skin, as if trying to wake me up and keep me away from my happy dream world. I don't know how many hours I'd been there. I tried to shift slightly but pain erupted throughout my entire body. Something slightly warmer and sticky coated my side.
A horrified scream rang through my ears. 'Roxas, what happened to you?'
A/N: ok people that's chapter one up. So how'd I do? If there are still and spelling mistakes or plot holes etc that I have missed which you feel are important to the story please let me know, I've checked this story several time, and it is now 3am and I really can't be bothered to check anymore _ but over all I think I did ok, the ending was completely different to how it originally was but I still think it turned out fairly good. Anyhoo, good by for now, my eyes are drooping and I'm trying to watching scrubs XD