Off Balance
This whole concept of 'supportive grouping' freaks me out. I never had enough problems to even consider asking someone else for help. I mean, my dad was a criminal and my mom was admittedly a bit of a whore but it wasn't exactly enough to bring me down. Also, I never really got along with a lot of people which is why I only have one really close friend.
That really close friend being Isa.
Isa: my main man.
Isa: my partner in crime.
Isa: my personal ass face that wants me to go to some gay-ass support group and get help for problems I don't even have. Story of my life, right? No, really, is it the story of my life? I don't remember much right now. Tomorrow will most likely be better. This is all like a massive hangover. Yeah. That's what it is—a ginormous hangover. Ain't that fan-fucking-tastic?
So Isa picks me up and drives me to this three-story building that doesn't have an elevator. It's all stairs. We had to climb up to the second floor and I'm really not feeling it right now. I mean I am really not in the mood for all that physical activity. Sure it's all of nothing in the scheme of things, but it still annoys me.
x
In this room there are window walls. Outside it's snowing. It's only October 15th (as my amazing alarm clock told me) and it is snowing. The upside is that I love snow and think it is absolutely beautiful. I think I want to melt it though. Honestly, I could use a lighter right now. I think I would do some insane things with it. I envision roaring fires engulfing this building, turning it to ashes, whipping winter winds walloping those ashes into the ground.
I'm apparently suddenly a pyromaniac. How's that for f—ed?
I feel like I have been here in this group before, strangely enough. I take note of everyone around me- an antsy blonde with a mullet-Mohawk fidgeting with the hem of his bright blue V-neck, a small black-haired girl tapping her feet anxiously, a pink-haired guy (girl?) that I distinctly recall being a brunette, and a blonde with spikey hair and empty eyes that I recognize from the news a few years back. I think his name was Cloud Strife. My aunt was heartbroken when she saw that on the news. We lived in the same general vicinity as the Strife family and someone had burned their house down. It was devastating. I always thought all three of them died—Aerith, Sephiroth, and Cloud—but it looks like Cloud is still alive. That's nice. Good for him.
There is an empty chair next to Cloud Strife. I can read the disappointment on his face. I feel a twinge of sadness in my heart. Or is that longing? What is this feeling? I feel… lost… It's almost like something is supposed to be here but it isn't here. Something is missing. Something feels wrong. Someone is supposed to be in that chair.
Someone that is not in that chair is supposed to be in that chair.
God damn it.
X
After an hour of blankly (but very angrily) staring at the empty seat next to Cloud Strife, the support meeting lets out. I learned less in that hour than I did in my freshman year of high school and I didn't learn jack shit that year. Isa and I are coolly walking down a dusty sidewalk in the direction of the parking lot that goes to this building. Isa's hands are shoved in his pockets. I notice, when the breeze brushes his sapphire locks from his pale face that his eyes are watery, but a tiny smile of happiness is twitching on his face. I watch curiously as a single tear leaves the duct of his left eye.
"Isa," I call out softly, gripping his shoulder that is closest to me, stopping in my tracks. He stops as well. "Is something wrong?" I ask him.
He sharply turns his head away and purposefully covers his eyes with his hair after rubbing streams of tears away furiously. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just…" He sniffles. I smile softly at the youth I find in him simply by seeing this lost vulnerability. I can't remember the last time I saw him like this.
Then again there are a lot of things I can't remember but that's beside the point.
Isa tells me, "That was the second fucking time you ditched me for half a fucking year. You were dead. I mean you were honestly dead to me. You were dead to everyone. So much has changed. Your uncle's got himself a girl now and I got… well I got nothing at the moment. You're my best friend, Axe. I hate when you randomly leave me like that." He turns around and sucker-punches me in the gut. I wheeze. I think my stomach broke. "You're not doing it again because if you do I'll kill you."
I smirk between struggles to get my breath back. Just like old times.
I shove his arm, pushing him into a brick wall powerfully. He hits his head and his arm gets all cut up from glass shards sticking out of crannies. We push each other back and forth for a while, laughing, getting beaten up by the other. I enjoy it. This is what my friendship with Isa has been like since the beginning.
I hear clomping footsteps coming up from behind us. They are fast, chasing us. Then I hear, "Isa, hold up!" I stand up straight and tap Isa's shoulder, pointing over my shoulder with my thumb. I tilt my head in question.
Isa turns around. His face illuminates when he sees whoever is behind us. I turn as well, nearly colliding with a pale face topped with light blonde hair. Dark blue eyes shine through wispy bangs. "Hey, Cloud. What's up?"
And as quickly as my mood had been lifted, it gets shot down by the quality of the engrossing conversation between those two. It sickens me. I groan and mutter something about catching up with him as I continue off in the general direction in which we were just headed—not that it matters anyway. Isa doesn't really seem to care. He's too busy making google-eyes at Cloud. How nasty is that? I tilt my head back and force my hands into my back pockets. Damn things are too small. I should get more pants- preferably ones with large pockets that I can keep shit in.
I sigh and flip my head forward, not caring how windblown my hair is, not caring how feminine it looks frazzled by humidity, not worrying about my appearance at all whatsoever. I have no reason to care how I look. I just 'came back to life'. I want to live the way I choose for fuck's sake.
On a bench about fifty feet away, there is a blonde mop. It's a floppy mop on top of a thin pole. What's a mop doing outside? Oh wait, it's just a boy. But I could have sworn he was a mop. I mentally bitch-slap myself for being an idiot. Then I notice, as I get closer, that it isn't just a boy.
My mind shrieks, Roxas!
Who the hell is Roxas? I've never met anyone by that name, have I? I have to admit he looks awkwardly familiar. Admittedly, I sort-of want to fuck him on the spot, too, but that would be a horrible idea. My heart is crushing itself against my ribcage every single time it pounds, trying to bust out of my chest. Shit. Ouch. It hurts. My chest really hurts. I think I should bash my head into a wall to ease it or something. Roxas. Whoever he is, he's kryptonite.
I stalk over to him.
Pound.
Closer.
Pound.
Just a few more steps.
Pound.
My heart beats faster with each step I draw closer.
Roxas snaps out of his little world as I sit down on the bench beside him, slipping a little on the mist-covered seat. He gives me a peculiar look of confusion. "Can I help you?" he asks in possibly the sexiest raspy voice I've ever heard. He clears his throat. He has dirty blonde hair, gelled in spikes that are wilder than mine; it's not an easy feat to accomplish, either. His bubbly blue eyes with outspoken bags under them are lost in whatever world across the street is so fascinating that he must stare at it dreamily. His face is pale, washed out by the white short-sleeve jacket on his torso. He wears a checkerboard wristband on his left wrist. He's wearing baggy jeans and a pair of DCs that only partially match. This familiar beauty that radiates from his body is like sunlight. Though he has tiny scars adorning his face that aren't so familiar, they fail all attempts at ruining this perfection.
I can picture his lips on mine, locked in passion.
I can feel myself inside his hot, tight pleasure.
I can feel his hands gripping my waistband and his head on my chest.
But I've never met him before in my life.
So I ignore his sardonic can I help you. There is something I just have to do. I roughly grab both sides of his face and stare deep into his startled his eyes.
"What the hell are you doi-!"
I interrupt him by forcing my mouth upon his. I was right. This is right. This is so grotesquely similar to a memory I think I have. His lips taste like a warm chocolate chip cookie. His cheeks are freezing beneath my hands, but are quickly heating up ferociously. I smile into the kiss unintentionally and he squeaks, heaving me off of him far too soon. He wipes his mouth with the back of his wristband.
His scowl is deep. I am actually rather wounded by it and immediately frown in response, my eyes growing after failing to stay intense. "I don't care what fucking day of the week you are. Today's my day off. Get the picture?"
I raise an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure I'm not a day of the week…" I assure him in a voice that makes it more like a question than an assurance.
His glare gets even deeper somehow, boring holes through my skull like a drill bit. "So you're Saturday!" he yells at me, slapping me hard across the face. It stings. I think he left a mark.
My jaw drops. "What are you talking about? I already told you I'm not a fucking day of the week! I'm a person!"
His eyes go wide then shrink back down as if the thought of me being a human as opposed to a weekday comforts him. He chuckles nervously and scratches his head. "Sorry. I thought you were someone else for a minute." His face twists back into a glare. Can you say bipolar? "But seriously, kissing people you don't know isn't cool. It makes you look like a pedophile."
The corner of my lip pulls into a lopsided smile. Something tells me he is all bark, no bite. "Maybe I am a pedophile, here to take you to my house and rape you," I say, trying to lay on the just joking tone as thickly as possible so he doesn't turn around and punch me like Isa did.
My stomach still hurts, by the way.
Roxas winks boyishly and laughs. "Who said it'd be rape, you creepy faggot? You seem fine to me."
I stick my tongue out. "You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?"
After ten minutes of throwing banter back and forth competitively, Roxas stops. He tilts his head. His hair flops to one side. His smile is gorgeous. His boyfriend is a lucky bastard. "You're a weird guy. I wish you could be Thursday," he says with dreamy eyes.
My brow peaks. "I'm not a day of the week, you know. I happen to be a human being with thoughts and feelings," I tell him mindlessly.
His eyes pop open when I finish saying that. His eyes droop. He suddenly looks sad, averts his eyes. "I guess you're right. I wouldn't want you to be a day of the week either. You're too cool for that," he tells me, chuckling. He rises to his feet and puts a smile back on his adorable face. "What's your name, anyway?"
I try to force a smile back, knowing that something in the mood has changed. That's why he's about to go, isn't it. "Axel. Got it memorized?"
Roxas laughs. "Yeah, I'll commit it to memory." He turns his back to me and walks away. After three steps or so, he stops. "I'll see you around." He pauses. "Axel."
Pound.
Will you just shut up?
…Pound.
Yeah, heart; I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship, too. Or at least I hope so because that kid is fucking hot and even if I can't become friends with him I could try for a good fuck.
What the hell am I saying? I don't want that.
Who am I kidding? Hell yeah, I do!
Wow. So I only have the first chapter up and there's 6 faves and 11 alerts. Transferring from Matchstick Houses, I see. :P I mean wow. Thank you so much. I'm sorry for the long wait on this chapter. The end fought with me tooth and nail, the son-of-a-bitch. On the upside, the next chapter will be up within the next few days for sure because I have to go to work with my mom tomorrow. 8 hours in front of my laptop with no internet access means WRITING! WOOHOO! And if you wanna do fan-art for this story our are even considering it, you should. You just should. And I'm not trying to be greedy or selfish or anything, but things like your reviews and compliments and messages just make all this stuff I've been dealing with feel worthwhile. As long as I can get up and know someone's reading this shit it feels just fine to me. So thanks so much for being here.
Love Scotty.
