Someone Very Special

One
Meet Me

I was in second grade when I met who would become my first love. His name was Roxas Colton and from the minute he stepped foot in Ms. Basset's classroom way-back-when, I was caught. He had a hook, line, and sinker within the first few weeks of me knowing him. I mean, he was a cute kid. Everyone liked him. He was instantly popular with everyone.

Basically he was everything that I- the one person that thought they were an exception to his cheerful blue eyes and winning smile –was not. I wasn't popular. I wasn't well-liked; even as a little kid I had very few friends. I had a twin sister (older than me by three minutes that she never lets me live down) named Kairi and a couple good friends, one as a little raven-haired girl named Xion whom I loved dearly and another being a girl named Anastasia that everyone just called Asia. But Roxas- he had tons of friends. He had made friends with some of the coolest people at our suburban elementary school before I had time to realize what was going on. He instantly befriended one the most notorious little fireball in our class, Axel Flynn, and from there the sky was the limit for the little blond.

It wasn't until the middle of third grade that I realized I liked him. We still had our class together, just like last year.

Fourth grade made me realize that I really liked him. Again, we were still in the same class. I still got to stare blankly at the back of his head when the teacher bored me.

Fifth grade, I couldn't stop thinking about him. I almost failed Mrs. Mitch's class because of it. Also because one day she threatened to knock my head off if I didn't stop bothering the kid next to me, a heavier set boy named Lexaeus, and calling him an idiot. He never seemed to mind, but Mrs. Bitch Mitch did.

By the time I hit middle school, I was officially in love with Roxas. There were no other words for it. Yeah. I loved him alright. Now he was on both the football team and the captain of the junior basketball team, being the only sixth grader to make it onto either team and actually get out there and play once in a while.

Roxas was everything.

As for me, I was still nothing. I was too shy to participate in school activities; always had been, thought I always would be. Then one day, my mother got off the phone with her long-distance boyfriend of 4 years, a man I knew little about, only that they had a twenty year age difference, and sat me down on the couch in my grandmother's living room.

We had been living with my grandma Savastano in the same house she's lived in for over forty years (right next to my uncle Guy's home, in which lived and still live him, my aunt Kathy, and two brothers in bond and cousins, for three years since my grandfather died of esophageal cancer. Now my mom looks at me and tells me we're moving from a suburb of Cleveland, Ohio to fucking rural-ass New Hampshire.

At first I told people she said New Jersey because I still hardly knew that New Hampshire existed. I ended up telling Roxas (when he asked, of course. Hey, we did talk some you know. Given, my face turned red and I lost my thoughts, but that's beside the point) that it was New Hampshire since he was apparently the only person that I could remember the name of my new "home" for.

Anyway, continuing on my timeline of how long I've liked Roxas Colton, I started at this shitty school called Sanborn in seventh grade where I met a bunch of really weird people. Everyone out in New England was so much different. Everyone seems closed off and like they're a prick. Even then, all through seventh grade I liked Roxas. I still thought about him. I almost never stopped. No other guys really caught my attention, not even my gorgeous new goofball friend Sora or the even more gorgeous friend we both shared, Riku. None of that matters because I keep going back to Ohio to visit my family and every time I'm out there, guess who I see playing basketball at the local recreation center?

Good old Roxas Colton: the object of my affections.

So eighth grade comes up and I'm feeling good to be at the top of the middle school, but at the same time I've made friends with a parasite-like guy in my grade named Zexion who acts like he's better than everyone around him. It really aggravates me. He also comes onto me a lot and hits on me, despite the obvious advances on him by our mutual friend Demyx. Demyx is like a clueless push-baby. Those things are so small and cute you really just want to take them home with you, ya know? I want one. But my friend Marluxia, a boy who lives across the street from me as my only neighbor since the other house on my two acre lot is unoccupied and his house is the only one I can see from mine, would never allow a creature like that near his and his family's gardens. They grow beautiful flowers year-round and have a couple miniature horses. I call him a hypocritical fart-knocker for not letting me have a push-baby, but he can have three little ponies.

Notice something? I've made more friends here than I had ever at my old him. Eighth grade is good for me, but I slowly start to sink into a depression. I miss my family. My grades are slipping. My heart has been broken too many times, and my mother's boyfriend who we now live with freaks me out with how old he is. I never thought about twenty year's difference until I really looked at the two of them. He's old enough to be my grandfather!

Oh, and Roxas was on my mind a little too. I started to get over it around here. I knew it was never going to happen, so I just started to shove him out of my mind and focus on the great guys I have around me today.

Finally freshman year rolls around and I'm pretty chill with the whole idea of becoming a high-school kid. Growing up never fazes me anymore. I've changed so much from the cute little Namine I was almost three years ago into the badass Nam that people know me as now. I wear my Hurley hats like a gangsta and guy's boxers slung low around my waist under baggy shorts and tight-fitted, low-cut shirts. Does my mother care? As long as I'm not cutting myself like I did in up until the end of last summer, she doesn't particularly mind. In fact, she's happy I'm expressing myself, what with the way I spend endless hours on my computer producing digital art and making CGs and rarely leave my room to do anything but play Call of Duty or Legend of Zelda or old Gamecube games on my Wii hooked up to the television in the living room.

I'm alive.

I'm moving.

I'm fine.

…Two out of three isn't all that bad.

So during freshman year I make an even newer friend, still keeping my middle school goldies (including Sora and Riku). My newest friend is a sophomore named Xigbar that seems to get along with my stupid freshman friends and I way better than he does with other dudes in his class. He likes me the best out of us though and we hang out a lot. I sleep over his house. He sleeps over mine. We're good pals. I tell him everything. He tells me anything he can without feeling awkward for talking to a female about his strange addictions and anger management problems.

Freshman year ends with a bang, seeing as I'm started on an antidepressant and I have a whole summer full of friends and fun shit ahead of me. This has to be the best summer ever. If it's not, I swear I'm going to fall apart. Last summer was horrible. I don't even want to think about it. So that's why I wrote this little… thing about myself; in case something happens to me, I want this half notebook, half sketchbook book to be shown to everyone mentioned.

Everyone that isn't Roxas Colton because I know for a fact he's forgotten me by now. I was just the girl that liked him from afar for so long and hurt so badly over it.

Well get this, Roxas: I'm over you. Your seven-year reign of terror over my fragile teenage heart is over.

X

Namine "Nam" Cruise

-(NC)-

I stand at the end of my thirty-meter Y-shaped driveway, waiting for the traffic to pass so I can cross the street to grab the mail. I stare at the other side at the ratty white house with rotted green shutters hanging from holey screen windows. Literal trailer trash like wheelbarrows and barbecues are tossed along the near non-existent front yard. To the left of the house is a little garden in which my friend Marluxia has planted to try to take attention away from the disheveled state of the property he lives on with his lazy parents, three ponies, stray cat, and annoying dog. It's not the kind of place you'd envision a landscaper-wannabe to live—with dirty people. He didn't choose it, though. We all just live with the hands we're dealt.

A station-wagon (been a while since I've seen those things) speeds by, almost hitting a squirrel, but the squirrel runs off toward my yard, scampering through the small thicket and into a tree.

I jog across the street, my bra lacking total support, causing my chest to bounce uncomfortably. I slow to a walk as I approach the mailbox and scratch my black Hurley-hat clad pale-daisy hair. My splatter-paint camisole is loose on my body, hanging off me like lingerie. And my short blue shorts with frayed bottoms missing two belt loops are tight around my curvy hips, just the way I like them.

"Nam!" a voice calls as I pull open the off-white mailbox labeled '28'. I turn my head in the direction of the Czarwa house, more commonly known as where Marluxia lives- number 26 on our road. I smile when I see my rebellious, pink-haired friend. He apparently started dying it before I moved here so I never got to see his hair its natural color, which I've heard is a chestnut brown.

"Hey Mar," I greet him pleasantly with a smile, skillfully kicking my mailbox shut with one of my flip-flop adorned feet. I hold the mail in one of my armpits to crack my knuckles. "How goes it?"

He leans against the towering wooden telephone pole and grins. "Same stuff different day," he sighs melodramatically, ruffling his mop of 80s-style hair. "What about you?"

I shrug nonchalantly. "You know. Same old, same old is going on. Nothing new ever really happens."

"Got that right," he snorts. I laugh. "Hey, when do you leave for your trip back home?"

Yeah. I still refer to my old life as my home. Wanna make something of it, punk?

That's what I thought.

"Wednesday," I inform him, rubbing my itchy septum with the back of my hand. "I'm psyched, dude."

"I can see that."

"Wanna come over and get your ass kicked in Brawl?" I offer with a challenging smirk.

Marluxia exhibits a soft smile. "As good as that sounds, not today. I have to go to training," he groans.

I raise an eyebrow at him like, training?

"I'm getting my pilot's license then going into the Air Force," he explains.

My jaw drops. Him? Never in a million years would I expect Mar to get into a fight, let alone something so dangerous like the US Air Force! I pout at him. "Are you sure you even want to go into the armed forces? That's really dangerous, dude." I heard about the Air Force. My great uncle was in the Air Force and fought in a ward. I can't remember which one it was. Maybe it was Vietnam. I don't know. But he told me that some of the things he saw and he had to do disturb him so much that he rarely talks about it. It's why I don't know what war he was even in.

"Maybe I'll just go into the Marines…" Marluxia grumbles. I whack him on the arm. He rolls his eyes. "What did I even do?"

"Why would you want to go into the armed forces? You're a pansy! Literally! You, of all people, shouldn't be jumping on the next train to the Carolinas for boot camp," I rant. A glare finds its way onto my face. I'd hate to see something bad happen to Marly. We're good friends and I don't want to lose that.

He blinks. "I'm not that delicate. Besides, I could use some toughing-up. The military would be the perfect way for me to become more than what I am now, which is nothing."

"You're not 'nothing'," I tell him sternly. "You're Marluxia. You're my across-the-street neighbor. You're my friend. And most importantly you have a future in either landscaping or interior design. Are you really going to leave all of that because you suddenly feel awkward in your own shoes?"

Guiltily, he looks away, hints of a blush materializing on his cheeks. "Some things just have to be done."

"You don't have to do anything. No one's holding a gun to your head," I remind him, making a gun by pointing up my thumb and leaving my pointer and middle finger bonded together. I aim it at his face. "No one's threatening you to do anything. You don't have to go." Personally, I would rather him let me kill him than have him go off and run into a situation that will kill him without my careful advising. Because I honestly consider him inferior (don't give me that look. I warned you once, I won't do it again) to myself despite the fact he's older than me, I feel as though I have to protect him. I'm stronger than him. I could be so much more successful in the forces but I'm not dumb enough to go do that.

"You don't understand, Nam," he sighs, ruffling his hair again. He stands up straight, pushing himself off the pole he's been using for support. His faithful smile returns. "I'll see you when you get back, okay?"

I frown and put my finger gun down. "Fine," I groan as I am enveloped in a fierce hug. I feel my lungs burning, begging for air. I can't breathe. "Ox…y…gen…" I manage to croak out.

Marluxia releases me, blushing heavily. He beams. "Have an awesome time."

"I'll try," I mutter while he walks away. I point my makeshift gun at his back, push the imaginary trigger, and say bang.

-(NC)-

I fold another pair of shorts, placing them atop the thick stack on my checkerboard-themed bed. With a deep groan of boredom I lift the mass and hobble over to my midsize red suitcase in which a couple expertly-packed piles of various shirts, shorts, and underwear are already packed. I set the new pile of shorts- jeans, for the most part, but a few pairs I ordered with custom quotes off of Zazzle –next to the old one, making an L form out of clothing, leaving a random square gap of nothingness. I think I pretty much have anything that isn't a toiletry. So what could I be missing?

Oh yeah, my aunt is a lightweight and my grandma doesn't get her monthly anymore. So I might as well shove some period stuff in there, as if it won't freak out whoever goes through my bag. It's not like they'll find anything interesting; I don't wear kinky panties or bras, just whatever feels comfortable for the moment. I don't get laid constantly so I don't have condoms or stuff like that.

Then again I've never even kissed a guy. Why in hell would I be getting laid? Of course I've been kissed before. I've made out and made it to third base even, actually. But with a guy I've had nothing.

My former relationship was a chick. It was the biggest mistake of my life. We've been broken up for seven months and she hates my guts now because she found out that I didn't like her like that the whole time we were together. I wasted a year and six months of her life. Ha. It's a year and six months she wouldn't have made it through without me. So she can suck my metaphorical dick. It was also abusive. She used to tell me to go die or go to hell or call me ugly or dumb or worthless. It's nothing big anymore. Lots of people just don't see that abuse in a relationship isn't always physical. That was there too, but far less prominent.

It was the words that really cut me like a knife.

I shove my copy of the newest Jason Myers book, The Mission, into the large netted zip-pocket of my suitcase. I'm not going anywhere without at least one book to read while I'm trapped. I walk over to my computer, which is on and I have iTunes open so I can listen to music while I pack. I have two new IMs and ignore them both since I really don't feel like talking to anyone right now. I want to get this done. My library is currently on Just Got Paid, Let's Get Laid by The Millionaires, better known as one of the worst groups I've ever listened to. But the songs are definitely catchy.

Think you'll get famous takin' pictures for free? Think again bitch, maybe you should do it like me. Can't believe I get paid to shake my ass on stage. Gettin' drunk e'r day makin' minimum wage. Cuz the life you wish bitch don't say shit. No talent, just lucky that they still wanna fuck me.

My secret shame is shitty music.

I lean over my computer, not failing to notice the fact that guys would kill for this view of my cleavage, and hit fast forward so I don't have to keep listening to it. Something by Brokencyde comes on and I decide I can work with that.

I continue packing, allowing my thoughts to drift very far away from my normal boundaries. I touch lots of random topics, one of them being how my old friends, friends like Xion and Asia, and my family will react when they see me. I wonder if they'll notice the tattoos I got behind my parents' backs. I bummed a fake ID off of Kairi last time she was here, got two kanji symbols. On my left shoulder blade is "fierce" and on the right is "dragon." It suits me. Oh and where does Kairi stay if not with us?

She chose to leave for the trip before I did so she could spend a couple days cleaning up our grandmother's house, that way I won't have to do anything. Generally I do all the chores around the house. This is her sick way of making it up to me.

She's an awesome sister.

Brokencyde morphs into Lovehatehero seamlessly, from 40 Oz to Red Dress. The latter is one of my favorite songs of all time. I can play it on guitar, too.

Didn't know I play guitar? I'm not great at it, but I don't suck. I can play some My Chemical Romance, some Bullet for My Valentine, and quite a few others. But this song is just my song. I love it so much.

I have Red Dress set as my contact ID for a number I acquired a while ago but never use. He doesn't have my number anyway so he'd be weirded out if I randomly started talking to him.

That's Roxas Colton for you.

I already told you I'm over him, alright? So don't give me any oh that's so kawaii stares or I'll beat you down. My former love for Roxas has dwindled to a memory. My only concern is that when I see him (even if it's just a stupid passing glance), I tend to forget I got over him and I snap the rope I've worked so hard to braid.

That's Roxas Colton: my kryptonite.

Yep. That's what Roxas Colton is: someone very special.

Wow. I just realized I posted this incorrectly and feel horrible about it. Good thing all of no one read it. There's the good news. The weird news? I'm in the midst of 80 Days, Fad, Or Never, and now this because I decided I wanted to try a NamiRoku story. I promise it will be cute and fluffy, but it has to be angsty before they can get to the adorable relationship I have planned for them.

If you don't think this is crap, review it and let me know. I'd love to continue this story under advisement of some people that really like this pairing. I like it, but I like second opinions, too.

Anyways, if you read it, review it. Tell me what you think. I'm sure I'll be thanking sweet Jesus you give a shat.

Scotty.