I practically skipped through the door that cold night.

My cheeks where tinted lightly with red, but not from the cold, or the chilly breeze of the winter evening.

I blushed for a much warmer reason, a reason that made me warmer then I ever thought I could be.

I carefully closed the door, cautiously letting it click behind me, hoping to make as little noise as possible entering my quiet home.

I slipped off my scarf and tuque, the warmth of the apartment reminding me of how warm it had been in his truck, of the steaming butter smothered popcorn we had shared, of his larger calloused hands and how my softer ones fit in his so wonderfully, so perfectly.

I hung up my hat and scarf, slipping my coat off and onto its hook, working slowly as my eyes adjusted to the blinding darkness of the room.

Kanda had taken me to the old drive-in theater across town, and we picked the movie I'd been talking about see non-stop for weeks. He wouldn't let me pay for anything, insisting that he asked me out so he'd pay, refusing to hear a word of my protests; and after a few minutes of movie, when I'd built up enough courage to dare and rest my head on his shoulder, he'd pulled me closer, a well worked arm holding my waist, his buttery fingers taking my own. I had giggled gently at the feel of his slippery appendage, knowing full well that having such an oily hand was probably annoying him to no end.

I slipped off my boots, beginning to tip toe my way through the room, turning the corner to notice a harsh yellowish light that tempted me, almost challenged me, to step into the kitchen it illuminated.

I felt a sudden shiver as I remembered the sensation of Kanda's intense gaze on me, watching my eyes, my lips, my face, my reactions... watching me.

He he even glanced away from me? Had he even watched the movie at all? My heart fluttered, I doubted it.

I scanned the quiet, dimly lit living room, quietly heading down the only route to my room. The light from the kitchen spilling into the darkness around me, barely illuminating my path as I cursing under my breath.

Tonight uncle Cross wasn't passed out on the couch...

I thought of Kanda's natural warmth at my side, the cute slight smirk he wore all night, the light press of my lips on his cheek before I slid out of his truck and into my apartment complex.

My heart still beat rapidly in my chest at the way all those small signs seemed to lift me from the ground. I felt like a feather, drifting across the sky as it descended from its place on a birds wing, only to glide softly onto the ground.

And tonight was like everything I'd ever dreamed.

Until I walked into the kitchen.

My uncle sat slouched in a wooden chair, fiery red hair falling over his features, an ugly brown beer bottle resting lazily in his hand.

My tired silver eyes laid upon his drunken figure and I couldn't move, a feeling close to a wet cube of numbing ice gliding swiftly down my spine falling over me, fear chasing away the light hearted feelings Kanda had instilled.

I had been hoping to hold onto those feelings all night, hoping to avoid Cross, to find him passed out on the sofa like I had last time. But those where crushed hopes, the feather on the ground trampled into the mud, as if by a parading of unaware children. With random clomps and stomps it was ruined and dirtied, soft white bristles bunching and turning a brown not far from the color of those disgusting bottles that crowded that counter, not far from the one he took a swig of before eyeing me menacingly.

The kitchen glowed eerily around us, empty bottles and caps littering the counter top to my left, a few laying on the floor with one of the three high backed counter stools. Dishes where piled up in the sink, informing me that he'd been drinking all day, blinds pulled on the windows, cabinets randomly opened like someone had rifled through them before slamming them closed.

Uncle Cross had waited up for me tonight, something that was becoming a regular occurrence, and I prayed he'd go easier tonight, leave the pain in places where I could hide the bruises.

"And where, have you been?" He slurred drunkenly, shifting so he sat back in his harsh wooden chair.

I almost sighed, but my body tingled in fright, the skin remembering the pain of the last time I sighed at his remarks, the last time I spoke to him with sleep in my voice.

"I was at work."

"Youuu don't work the fuh-fucking graveyard shift, don-don't you lie to me, you little sssshit."

I tried to breathe normally, not letting the air tremble from my lungs, the familiar scent of beer seeming to stain the air around the kitchen, and even after years of the stench I could still feel it making me nauseous, like I stood on a rickety ship being pushed and tugged by the sea.

"I'm not lying," I said quietly, looking down to the ground, wanting so desperately for him to just pass out on the floor like the drunkard he is, "you didn't pick me up, again, so I had to ask Kanda to give me a ride home."

"BULLSHIT!" He shouted in a steaming rage.

I flinched as he threw the bottle of gross grain colored liquor at the wall near the door frame, it crumbling with the force of the contact, one of the large shards hardly grazing my skin, leaving a few small tares in the shoulder of my fitted sweater.

The room filled with a heavy silence, my heart beating out of my chest for a reason I loathed, a reason that wasn't Kanda. I watched warily as he popped open a new beer, taking a gulp big enough to drown in, not a drop missing his chapped dry lips. He swallowed thickly, taking deep disturbing gulps, sucking in a loud annoying breath when the bottle was finally lowered from his lips.

"I'm surprised that long haired hippie still fuckin' picks up yourrrr calls. I would have dropped your ssshitty ass yearssss ago!"

I frowned, clenching my fists in anger, he could say things like that so easily, and I hated it.

Uncle Cross had become such a disgusting mess ever since Auntie Kay died... He forgets he wasn't the only one who lost some one that day... Mom and Dad had been in the car with her after all...

But I can't bring myself to hate him.

Cross scares me, he's frightening these days, he drinks himself into a rage and I know it's because he's too weak to deal with the pain. He lets it out on me, he refuses to get help, refuses to get past it, and he makes me suffer for it.

He's a sick man with an addiction that's not helping either of us.

I could feel the ball of anger that was knotting itself in my gut as he continued to blabber on, my anger intensifying especially now, now that I knew Kanda's warmth, now that I felt his hands, my lips on his skin, his eyes on me. Now that I knew...

"...the shitty little brat just wants to get in your skinny fucking jeans, the sick minded, co-"

"FUCK YOU!"

...I couldn't let him talk that way anymore.

And I exploded.

"What?" He slurred unintelligibly, frowning in his drunkenness.

"SCREW YOU!" I screamed, anger overwhelming me, a thin finger pointed at him accusingly, "HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT HIM LIKE THAT! YOU THINK YOU KNOW HIM, BUT YOU DON'T KNOW SHIT CROSS! YOUR JUST A SAD DRUNKEN PRICK WHO NEEDS TO STOP BEING SO FUCKING SELFISH!"

I took in a large breath, feeling the rage want to boil into a break down, but no. Not this time. I wouldn't let it.

"You can just, just... SHOVE IT! HE'S! He's a good guy! And I like him! I like him a lot! So just shut your DUMB DRUNK MOUTH!"

I huffed heavily from my yelling, throat a little raw from emphasizing words with screams louder then I thought would ever come from me, teeth now clenched as I held in my anger, keeping the ball of rage from melting into nothing more then wet tears.

For a handful of quickly ticking seconds he sat there befuddled like an idiot, my anger flying completely over his head, and then fear struck my heart when his face twisted into an ugly bout of pure rage.

He tried to get up, he stood so fast that his intoxicated legs couldn't carry him and he landed back in the hard chair, his beer angrily sloshing, spilling a little more then a few large drops on himself.

My eyes widened in terror as I realized what I'd done, as I remembered what had happened, what would happen again if he caught me. I had to run, now was my chance to avoid him the rest of the night. I bolted to the left, around the counter, running for the open door that he sat with his back to, trying to make as much space between us as possible.

I'd be safe if I could just make it to my room.

I was a foot from the door frame when his filthy hand jerked me backwards, pulling me down, throwing me to the beer scented floor. He towered over me menacingly, like the tallest of skyscrapers, leaning, threatening to crush me beneath its weight.

With a rough swift kick he nailed me in the side and I knew it'd leave a large bruise, I couldn't help but shrivel into the pain, he used it to shove his foot into my stomach, an "omphf!" escaping my lips.

"YOU LITTLE FUCK! YOU LITTLE FUCKING SHIT."

He yelled it with a few more rough blows and when I tried to get up he grabbed me by the front of my shirt, sneering in my face before slapping me so hard the room spun and my ears began to ring.

My face stung so furiously, it felt like a thousand tiny needles had been slammed into my cheek, I could already feel the skin start to swell in the shape of his hand.

He started screaming again, just a string of insults aimed in every direction he could throw them and I squirmed in his grip, but when he raised his hand to hit me again I reared back my arm.

I knew he didn't see it coming, his sight blinded in rage, his body controlled by his emotions. I made a quick fist, thrusting my arm forwards, and even I was surprised when I missed his face entirely and landed a hard blow to his throat.

Cross wheezed in pain, making a sound like a mix between a gasp and cough, his grip rushing off me to aid his throat even though there was really nothing he could do.

He stumbled back a step when I pushed him away from me, and sprinting, I shot through to exit.

I didn't bother to look back when the heavy thump of him crumpling to the ground resounded through the apartment, his deep and desperate gulps for air echoing down the hall as I rushed to my room.

I didn't stop until the door was slammed shut behind me, and the lock turned into place, my body slumping against the hard wooden surface, his wheezing muffled by the door.

My cheek still stung in the shape of his meaty hand, my stomach quivering, making me feel as if it would expel the last of that popcorn onto the floor.

The smell of alcohol stained me, it invaded my senses and I hated it with everything in my body, everything I could muster. My clothing stunk of the foul liquid, my hands slightly sticky from pushing him away, from defending both myself and my friend...

...my... my boyfriend.

I slid down the door, keeping my back to it, crumbling into myself. I pulled my knees into my chest, curling into them, hugging myself in fetal position.

I imagined my arms were Kanda's arms, that he was here, that he knew what was wrong, that he could comfort me after the redheaded storm reeked havoc on my parade of a day. But the pain was to powerful to comfort with imaginary arms, far more real then I could make his strong warmth seem, he was far softer and gentler then the freezing hardwood flooring beneath me.

I could feel the last of my anger melting into tears, the salty drops threatening me, welling up, begging to climb down my face as fast as they wanted, but I wouldn't let them.

I would not cry, not tonight.

I wouldn't let him ruin my perfect night with Kanda, I wouldn't weep like a sad child on this wonderful day, not because of someone so unworthy of the natural water works.

But I did cry out in surprise when a loud bang shook my door, my body reacting without thought, scrambling to cross the room and onto my bed, my hands finding the stuffed toy my parents had given me.

"YOU LITTLE SHIT!" He screamed hoarsely, voice weak and slightly muffled by the door, "YOU COULD HAVE KILLED ME!"

He rammed the door as he yelled, it bending in against the weight on it.

When had his wheezing stopped? How long had I sat against the door? How much more torture will that door withstand from him?

Three more heart-pounding thumps shook me with fear, his yelling continuing until everything seemed to pause, until there was a stillness that left me feeling as if even the air itself awaited the dooming second that he split open that door.

It felt like forever.

But the next thump finally came.

Only, this time, the door didn't shake, didn't bend, didn't even quiver.

The thump came from outside, was softer then the rest, a different kind of heavy, a dead, lumbering, sort of weight.

I waited, straining my ears for shuffling, for movement, sitting alone in my room, surrounded by darkness, holding a stuffed toy.

Once again I was reduced to a whimpering child, even as a seventeen year old, as someone a year off from making all my own decisions, he can push me to this...

Make me feel broken...

With not a sound from outside I lay down on my bed, curling up in the blankets after throwing my clothes to the side, and hugging the cotton toy to my chest.

I'm grateful that it was big enough to squeeze, the golden colored body of the thing almost the size of my head, a pair of white-gold wings stretching out at least a foot on each side. I couldn't remember the day they gave it to me, but on its back, between the wings, is a small heart that someone scrawled on in blue ink that says, 'To our winter angel, Love mom and pa', accompanied by the smallest, roughest doodle of an angel I've ever seen. It's my most cherished possession, it's always been with me in my memories of my parents, and ever since I could remember his name has been Timcampy.

I buried my face in a pillow, listening closely for his shuffling, or a creak, anything that could hint at what he was up to when I heard the short nasally inhale of a snore come from the other side of the door.

I realized then that he had finally passed out, right in the hall.

I contemplated not going to school tomorrow, calling in sick to work, not leaving the house, not even leaving this room. Just starving, just sleeping, just hiding.

But I couldn't do that, what about Kanda? Would he worry when I didn't show up for work? Would he be hurt? Would he think I was avoiding him? Would he come looking for me?

I wanted to see him again, I wanted it to be tomorrow, I wanted the tears to stop fighting their way out of me...

I needed to see him.

Grabbing a handful of black bed sheet, I squeezed it tightly in my hand, forcing my thoughts to earlier in the night, to the raven haired wall of stubbornness that was my new boyfriend.

His attractive smirks.

His deep sea orbs.

His buttery popcorn hands.

His heavy heat that warmed me like no blanket ever could.

I closed my eyes, and he was here, he was with me as I drifted to sleep, protecting me from Cross, from harm, from the world.

It was those thoughts that lulled me to sleep that night, the anticipation of seeing him tomorrow giving me the strength to swallow my tears, and in a dream I was with him.

In a dream we where in his truck again, sharing popcorn, holding hands.

In a dream we were together.

And in a dream...

In a dream our night would never end.

So I've decided that I'm going to be adding a few chapters to this story, I'm going to be working on In The Backseat while it's on hold but I feel bad that the chapters are taking me an agonizingly long time to write, but I will be putting up other content like the next few chapters and maybe something else.