I'm so pissed off right now. My sister got into my account and deleted my stories to screw with me, sorry guys! Luckily it's given me a chance to revise some stuff.
I own nothing!
Are you Changing me for Better or for Worse?
High school; noun 1) A place to put hormonal teenagers and hope that nothing goes wrong. 2) Using the education we the students have already learned in grade school and reusing it as a cover up for making new lessons. 3) My battleground.
When your parents call you by your whole name, with fury noticeably laced in their voices its pretty clear that you're in trouble. However my parents never made it clear if I was in deep shit or not, they just dug the whole and waited to push me in. Mother would call my name in her normal voice which was high and squeaky, like nails scraping against a chalk bored, and father hardly spoke a word just stared with his normal colored eyes being a muddy shade of brown, same as my mother. I had expected this to happen. Being called into the master bedroom that happened to be the size of a dirty motel room that you could find on the side of the highway.
The beginning of my education began at one of the finest prep schools located in Japan. I was four years old and had successfully been the smartest four year old placed into those polished halls, finally at the age of eight I had received one bad mark on a spelling test making my perfect record look smudged and abused. Ironically enough the word I had gotten wrong was apologize, it's ironic because that's certainly a suck up tactic I missed. Unfortunately for my teacher Mr. Onodero I had managed to withhold private information he hadn't wanted anybody to know about ever.
I sadly had accidentally walked in on a scene being fulfilled in the teacher's bathroom the restroom I preferred over the many student areas because the adults knew how to flush and keep the floors, sinks, stalls, wall, toilet paper holder, mirror, and water fountain clean. Mr. Onodero being held up against one of the walls closest to the sink, noises of what I would later learn of pleasure from the back of his throat as his male partner kissed and caressed certain private body parts. Scarring for a child most certainly but it gave me a lot to think about. My teacher eventually took notice of my lingering presence, practically screaming his lover off of him and running over to me looking flushed, begging on his hands and knees I never tell a living soul about this encounter.
Later that day, during the late hours I had stayed up watching a detective movie, the bad guy had found a piece of information on the detective and had been using it against him to get away with his bad deeds. I learned that using a personal piece of information against somebodies will had been labeled as black mail, a skill that had lightened kindly in my red eyes. Being gay was wrong during my childhood times, and Mr. Onodero would be fired and worst case scenario be arrested, society would shun him. And everybody would believe me because I had the charms and acting skills to force everyone to believe me.
When I had been dropped off at school I quickly made it to my teacher explaining that what I saw him doing in the bathroom was weird and that I had been wanting to go talk with a councilor about my feelings. Begging humans was a sight I could easily grow tired of. Seeing an older man on his knees holding my hands with bulged out eyes looking slightly terrified, while asking me to keep my mouth shut. He even attempted to bribe me with a whole bowl of sugary sweets. Not being like every other typical eight year old, sugar disgusted me still does to this very day. I told him what I had wanted, he was glad to give it. Assuming that black mail would forever be in my favor (which I have never been wrong about) I continued getting what I wanted, by simply using rumors or whispers being spread around this prep schools hall as my bait. Until finally a teacher had enough and ratted me out.
Transferring schools was the only option provided to me. Like a cow being moved from one fram to the next. I was 11 years old when I had made my first friend, a boy who liked fatty tuna. Just like me! However, the boy had pulled a prank on me during a day of study by placing a whoopee cushion on my chair. Mistakes are made; children aren't capable of comprehending or controlling their anger, just expressing it with both body language and action.
Dad had given me a switchblade for Christmas to throw at pictures of hated celebrity's, girly anime characters, anyone who annoyed me, etc. Bringing it to school had never appeared wrong, so when I took it out of my bag marching over to the boys chair ready to stab the bastard in the neck laughing as his skin was impaled on my metal blade only to be body slammed by the teacher's assistant. Embarrassment had over come me as I was pulled off school campus by police officers, with silver handcuffs tightened around my wrists. Mom had bailed me out and paid the cops and school enough money to stay hushed. One of the finer things about being rich was cover up money. Yet after I had publicly humiliated myself with an attempted murder my knife still remained by my side trust worthy as ever just like my friend black mail. Another not as furnished but equally as educational school came into view forcing me to attend yet another Hell-in-a-structure. 12 and lonely I attempted to bring about some student company to no avail until finally one of the kids approached and offered me a seat with him and his friends during lunch.
He was just a young boy, taller then me, actually I was beginning to notice a lot of the children were taller then me, said boy had been known for his nasty attitude towards the educational system. We ditched school everyday for half a quarter. He and I parted ways and schools leaving me once again in the hands of frustrated parents. High school was approaching fast, at the age of thirteen during my last year of middle school I had once again proven to be a child genius but maintained a black mailing title. Whenever a curious student had asked how many schools I had gone to I had to think back to all those memories of being a wild child with marvelous manipulating skills and answered with three!
Three schools all left behind because of disrespectful behavior. Shaming my family once more by being a clever brat who would stop at nothing to get out of things had decided on the reckless idea of forging the signatures of staff and my parents to stop participating in physical activates, outdoor science projects, group work, and art class. I should have known they would call and verify after so many agreeable signings! Damn me for getting way to comfortable with power. Half the school year was over and I had been shipped to another school, only to be kicked out for not wearing the proper school uniform and loosing my $100 laminated school identification card.
High school would be a blast. Or so I thought. Summer was ending; nights were getting cooler and days cloudy. Dad had personally come to my apartment-sized bedroom knocking on the already opened door and stepping in with a blank expression. Using his brown eyes to take in my organized room, slight OCD had come into my genes and invaded my thought process whenever something was messy or out of order.
"Son, your mother and I have something important we would like to discuss with you." Shirou's voice came out calm and collected not shedding an ounce of emotion. Usually Izaya's father would often be to busy with work to actually come and sit down with his son, his mother often suffered the same problem of being to busy with work related issues to come talk and hang out with her children. So when his father had asked for his son's attention it was given to the fullest extent. Izaya even straightened his back a little, and stopped the swinging motion his legs on the edge of his mattress.
Getting up on his own and walking with tension rising in the air between father and son. Father lead first, walking out the door and down the beautifully built hallway leading to the opposite end of the hall containing the habitat for his parents. The top half of the walls were painted a blinding white, no stains adjourning the wallpaper, the bottom section cut off into a chestnut brown resembling the houses owner's eyes. Pictures of dad's law firm building came into view, a spectacular glass building gleaming into the sunlight, seemingly stretching higher then the clouds. Other pictures had the family posed for pictures with a fake background my sisters and I were grimacing at being forced to wear tight outfits and also being placed into close contact with one another.
Mairu and Kururi would have been fine hugging one another but wrapping their pale arms around brother dearest became an issue. Four silver colored chandeliers hung still, being held up by a stainless steal chain. The morning light had still been coming through the city viewing windows giving the over priced ceiling lamps an unused glow. Basically that was true seeing as nobody had any use for them being on. At the end of the hall came the same looking door as Izaya's own.
A dark brown solid piece of wood blocking entry to strangers unless they turned the polished golden surface of the round knob. Stopping his movements, Izaya noticed the slight wrinkle on the back of his fathers charcoal colored waist coat probably from his shoulder blades moving from walking. Shirou opened the door revealing the hardly used space for sleeping. It was practically a miracle his parents came home at the same time today. When one walks in the overly spaced sleeping place, you'll first notice the navy blue suitcase that goes from floor to ceiling each book filled with hard covered books.
Two of them sat side by side. One in the corner and the other just against the wall. Carpeting had been placed over the hard wooded floor, the only room in the over sized house to have carpeting. It felt fluffy and slightly uncomfortable under the Orihara sons feet, ruffling itself between his toes. "Izaya!" His mother was known for being over excited. Running over in heels managing not to fall flat on her face even with the black pencil skirt slowing some of her movements. She pulled her son into a bone crushing, breath concealing hug. Burying his face in her breasts.
"Did dad tell you the topic of our conversation?" She sounded slightly disappointed which gave Izaya the right to freak out a little. Here comes the 'you're actually adopted speech.' Or that's what Izaya assumed seeing as he was the only one born in his family with red eyes. "Kyouko I had not properly informed him yet." My father had said in a flat tone, walking around the hugging family to sit in a office chair, behind his home working desk. Pulling my face out of her top womanly parts, allowing air to come into my lungs my mother hesitantly leg go of my form pouting slightly and walked over to my father standing on the side of the leather material chair.
"This is about your school hopping." Kyouko said, glaring at the crimson eyes her son was born with. "And what would seem to be the problem?" Personally Izaya was shocked this talk hadn't come sooner. "Don't be a brat to your mother. Talk with the manners that have been given to you." His father said adding a disappointed tone to his monotone. Clearing her throat a little, and flipping back her long loose hair behind her shoulder, my mother began with the main problem.
"Izaya your father and I have discussed what we were going to do for your high school years. Those are the years that are most important to any school student and we don't want your record to be broken up." Smiling sadly, my father pulled his white coffee mug to his lips, taking a sip of the black coffee secretly mixed with scotch. "You want to home school me?" Izaya asked brightening up slightly. He's always wanted to be home school and stop getting up every morning walking into the over crowded learning areas, dealing with the smells and stupidity others offered in public.
"No... We're sending you to a disciplinary school." She clapped her hands and bounced on the balls of her feet, trying to make the situation a little more positive then it looked. "I don't need to be disciplined!" Izaya shouted moving closer to the work desk, watching a vein pop out of his fathers forehead. "You're becoming a little too bratty for my tastes. Your mother only partook in the discussions not the final decision making. You will be given your schedule and uniform a day before school begins."
Sighing at his known defeat, and already plotting his way of being kicked out of this school he finally asked needed to ask the final question. Hoping it wouldn't be the school or academy he was thinking about. "And where will I be attending?" Izaya asked in a flat tone, frowning till he was certain his face would wrinkle, while wiping away the imaginary dust heaps on his clothing. "Raira Academy."
Smirking at his sons obvious discomfort the older male folded his hands together on the desk, fiddling with his fingers. Kyouko decided to keep shut, letting her two boys work out this situation. "You're putting me in a school full of future if not already murderers, drug dealers, insane illegal scientists, and anything else that's against Japanese law!" Izaya shouted throwing his arms in the air." "You'll enjoy your own environment." Chuckling slightly, the Orihara father grabbed a document containing work information ignoring his fuming son. "Mom do you really want me to be in a bad place like that?"
The Orihara son asked, almost screaming with puberty at his own mother. "Well-" "You're mother's say will not get you out of that school." "I'll get out myself." Izaya assured himself. "If that school tolerates the murderers, why would they let a black mailer go?" Izaya Orihara was left with no other fate. He would have to attend disciplinary Raira Academy, at least until he found a secret juicy enough to get him out.
Oh his father better prepare to be proven wrong! There was no way in Hell Izaya was just going to sit back and let this happen. And yet on the very last day of summer vacation, one of the houses butlers came into his room, carrying a blue school uniform fitted to his size, and a printed schedule of his classes. What has he gotten himself into?