Perfect Score

My life people see as the best it can be. I'm the rich kid, the popular kid, the perfect kid, the perfect student, perfect son. Some of that may be true, but that's not me. I'm popular cause I'm rich. I'm not even close to being the perfect kid. I have a 4.0, yes, but I also suffer from depression, insomnia, anorexia, and some other things. As for the perfect family, my dad yells at my mother and I, and she simply goes along with it. My father beats me and mistreats me, violates me, and swore to kill me if I ever told anyone.

I keep up this false personality so that I can at least appear to be special. I could care less. The 4.0 gets my parents off my back a little, and the false friends allow me to spend time away from home, or be home without getting yelled at when "friends" are over.

The real me is quite different. I fight with my parents, I hate doing homework, I am a runaway, and hell. I was adopted in the first place. I listen to rap, screamo, and I tag, fight, and commit arson for the fun of it.

School got out a little earlier today, so I went home as fast as I could, hoping that the rents wouldn't be home when I got there. They were there though. First thing that I hear when I walk through the door is my father, bitching at my mother for having gotten pregnant again. But when he heard the door open, he starts yelling at me. Telling me that I'm scum, and that I need to improve my act if I expect to get anything in life. And he thinks that I care what happens in my future. I couldn't give a damn what happens to me.

I walked to the stairs, not listening to his ridicule, threw some clothes in my backpack, along with some money and my keys, and my cell. I was going on another trip. Down to L.A. where I actually felt at home. Where the music is playing, where the tattoo parlors are on every street. Where I can skate and unwind. The last things I grab are my baby and my smokes, and head to the car, throwing everything in, but carefully seat belting my baby in.

My baby is the finest piece of work you've ever seen. Maple body, well worn synthetic plastic, stainless steal trucks….I found my baby on junk day, and with it I found my first love. Skateboarding. I can do it for hours…..enough about me though. On to the story.

Zexion got into the car and drove, away from the parents, away from the parents, away from the false friends, away from the school, and into his hood. L.A. was his home. Where he grew up as an orphan. Where his whole life was before he was adopted. And every inch, mile, and city he got though, he felt closer and closer to home, and felt better and better.

By the time he reached L.A., he felt weightless.

When he got there, he grabbed his bag, and skateboard, got out of the car, and locked it tight, and started down town.

He came to a small In-&-Out Burger first, a place that he always visited on his retreats, and had he ever planned to not come back from a retreat, the owner had offered him a permanent job at the place til he could find something better.

He then headed to his old orphanage. The last month he had come, it had been undergoing renovations. But when he arrived today, it had been totally burned to the ground. He gawked at the sight. So many of his memories had been at this place. And now it no longer existed. On his way back to the center of town, he turned into a alley, hoping to find a place to releive himself of the fluid he had built up. What he found instead, was some rather unhappy thugs. He could see why though. He had come in right in the middle of a job. Between the three of them was a single middle aged boy, maybe a year or two younger then himself. And a few seconds later, they were surrounding both the boy and zexion.

He looked at the boys in front of him, and noticed on in particular. He was wearing a black trench coat, with the hood up and down over his face, while the other two looked like average goons. Exept for the fact that they were only wearing greys and whites.

He recognized right before he was hit, just who they were. Known as O13, they were a group of crime bosses that ruled L.A. and the twelve major cities around it. He also knew that the one in the black overcoat was a Prince, or a decendent of one of the crime bosses. Probably of L.A. The princes stuck to their own turf, because unless they were invited, it was a breach of terms, and the Prince of the area would usually show them right back out with a few bruises or broken bones as a going away gift.

All he could do he desided was try and beat them, though he doubted he could. He had gotten rusty where he lived, nobody had been a challenge. But he was willing to try any way. He ran straight at the Prince, hoping to get a solid blow, but skimmed the boys cheek, pushing the hood back to reveal what looked no longer to be a boys face, but a womens face, very beautiful, but also very…very…Evil. The princes hair was pink, and long, and as Zexion found out a few seconds later, was an incredible fighter. And also a guy.

He crumpled off the Princes fist, and fell to the ground and slid out of consiousness.

When he woke up, he found himself in a rather sticky situation. He was in the backroom of the In-&-Out, on the bed that was there, and…was under another person. In a black trench coat that reminded him very much of the Princes.

He quickly slid out from under the body and went to the door, trying to open it, but to no avail, it was locked, and what made matters worse was that he felt two arms wrap around him and throw him back onto the bed, just to see the person in the trench coat crawl on top of him and pin him down. And then even more surprisingly, a voice he could swear he had heard before came from the hood.

"Good morning Zexy!" The voice said

Zexion stared at the hood for a second then spoke rather shakily

"Hello? Hood?"

He saw the lips form in to a pout, and the voice almost whimpered at him.

"You don't remember me do you Zexy, do yah?"

Zexion took another look, not expecting it to be who he thought it was and asked with slight question

"Demyx? Is that you?"

The hood suddenly disappeared from view and Zexion could feel something he most sertionly remembered. Demyx's signiture move. The Glomp Of Death. It was Demyx all right, though he still wondered why he was wearing an 013 Jacket and had been in the bed with him.

He pushed the younger boy off him, and sat up, looking around the room. There was an ashtray filled with cigarettes, some bandages, and a black hang gun, engraved with the roman numerals for nine. He reached up and pushed off the hood, and looked at Demyx. He hadn't changed much, his hair was still cut in the same Mohawk fashion, and his eyes still shown the radient blue that zexion had grown to love as a child. He had lived with Demyx in the orphanage as his roommate, but had been comeletly unaccepting of the boy til he found out that he was going to be leaving. He had found himself growing more and more scared of leaving Demyx, and the fact that he might not have ever gotten to see him again, so they had made a promise. One, that most would find irregular, for it was a promise between two boys. They had promised to be the others first kiss, when it finally would mean something, neither of them knowing that it was socially un acceptable to be the way they were. Zexion only found this out when he had told his mother when he was in sixth grade that he didn't understand why all the boys were talking about kissing girls. He didn't know that it was normal for boys, and exclaimed that he thought that one of the boys he watched was cute. From then on his relationship with his parents began to crumble. It had already been bad before, but after that night, and the beating he endures, he just got farther and farther away from his parents. But now he was back with Demyx, not knowing if Demyx had kept his side of the promise, or if he even harbored the same hope that Zexion had held ever since the day of their promise. Each time he had come back, he had searched for Demyx, but never found him.