Flatter Me

By Zuimi

Chapter Three:

Trapped

Soul dragged his feet on the sidewalk as he slouched. He could not be less motivated to return to his house. I mean, maybe he could, but at the moment, he was dreading coming back. He had spent a few hours at his friend Black Star's place to hang out after the Skull Ice Cream encounter with Maka and Tsubaki. It might've been more than a few hours, because he was heading towards his house at almost midnight. But what could he do? Even he needed some days off. He effectively spent the hours with Black Star playing video games, eating chips, and watching a terrible movie on Netflix. It was totally worth getting in trouble for, Soul deemed. But it didn't make him any less nervous as he approached the large house he lived in.

He wouldn't lie, it was an amazing house. It was built with sandy bricks, two white columns framing the ornate double-door. There were five windows on the side of the house facing the street: two lower ones on each side of the door, two high ones (above the lower ones), and a large circular one right above the door, revealing the chandelier inside. An intricate rock garden replaced a front lawn because of the desert climate, but colorful flowers emerging from low cactuses had proved to be enough décor to be considered great landscaping. A medium-sized fountain at the center of it all created the final touch to a sophisticated high-class residence. It didn't look like a downright mansion, but it was one of the most expensive, cared for, and pretty house in Death City.

But the front lawn was nothing compared to the rest of the property. To the left side, a quality sandy-colored cobblestone driveway led the way to a white iron gate opening at the side of the house. The cobblestone arrangement formed various intricate patterns that were definitely pleasant on the eyes. The iron gate led to a impressive garage, which homed four expensive cars (but not too expensive). The garage was in the placement of a basement. However, the cobblestone driveway didn't end at the iron gate, it continued to the backyard (not too big), where large flat sand-colored stone tiles served as a deck. There was a barbecue area, a gazebo, and, in the center, a large cerulean pool.

Of course, this was the mere exterior of the home. Soul walked up the front stairs, not bothering with the iron white railings lining them, and knocked on the door. Seconds later, the family maid opened the door to let Soul inside. Once he left the coat room, he walked into a large living room that could not be complete without a gigantic flat screen television, vanilla-colored sofas, numerous modern-art inspired paintings and vases, and a beautiful ebony grand piano. A small crystal chandelier hung above the scene, twinkling with light. The next room down from the front door, barely disconnected to the living room, was the main dining room. Just as modern and high-end to match all the other rooms. If one would turn right before they got to the dining room, they would be welcomed to a small library generally used as Soul's father's study.

Instead, Soul turned left, making his way up a marvelous marble staircase that curved slightly. Detailed black iron railings attached themselves to the rock, guiding the user to the second floor of the building. There, one would find a couple guest bedrooms, the master bedroom, Soul's brother's room, Soul's rooms, and separate bathrooms for each. The rooms all had stone flooring, and the bed was placed on a slightly raised part of the floor, with each part of the walls covered by curtain or turned into a high, large window. Everything was decorated and made using fine materials. But it was clearly not a mansion: simply a high-class, large residence.

Soul could head on to his room, where he could lie in a large stone chamber filled with modern artwork and draped with burgundy cloth, or he could continue down the hall up a case of creaky wooden stairs to the attic. Soul chose the attic. He climbed up to the third floor, and highest floor of the house. It was much smaller than the other two floors because the roof had already started to narrow into a point, but he didn't mind. Soul didn't mind that there were only two windows or that it was always stuffy in here or that the only furniture was stained with soda and ketchup. Because this was the only place he found himself comfortable enough to forget about the awful family he was born into.

Though usually nobody came (or wanted to go) to the attic, he could barely call this privacy. His mother, brother, and the family's maid would not hesitate twice to come up here to bug him, but it was better than to stay in his bedroom. He slept there, of course. No point in denying such a comfy mattress. But his father had placed a grand piano in his room, same as the one in the living room, so Soul could practice, and he could not bear the sight of it. Soul did not ask to be part of this horrible family of prestigious musicians, but that fact did not change the mind of his stubborn, determined father, desperate to keep the Evans' musical legacy alive inside his second son. In all honesty, Soul didn't mind playing the piano. It was fun – music was freeing. But only when he called the shots – which was next to never. He hated being told what to play, when to play it, and, most of all, how bad he was at doing anything his father ordered. He could never reach the expectations his forefathers had set for him. And though Soul desperately tried to not care, it always ate at him. He would never be good enough.

Next to Soul's perfect brother, Wes, Soul was a disgrace. Wesley Evans was a gifted violinist, who carried on the Evans' legacy and pride. He did exactly what their father asked, exactly how their father wanted it done, and exactly in the way that was appreciated by everyone. And it's not that Soul hated his brother, it's just that he hated what his brother's image did to his. Wes was one of the couple people that fully understood Soul's situation and fought for him. Though he couldn't do much, if their father was ripping Soul a new one, Wes would figure out a way to calm him down.

But nothing Wes could say would help Soul in the impending recital. Every year, the Evans family held a small concert for close family and friends. All of them weren't necessarily aristocrats, but they definitely all had poles incredibly far up their assholes as if they were. Usually, only Wes would play, not Soul. But this year, their father figured that since Soul was turning eighteen soon, he should play something. What seemed like an amazing opportunity was actually a way to torture the second son. Soul apparently had to write a new composition to perform, but so far, all his original songs remained disliked by his father. He said they were too dark, too ominous, too tragic. He said that what people want to hear is something light or majestic. But nothing of that genre would ever come to Soul's fingertips when he sat down at the ivory and ebony keys of the haunting instrument.

Just as Soul started to walk over to the window of the attic to let some air in, he heard footsteps come up the wooden stairs. The door soon was opened and a middle-aged woman with titanium blonde hair streaked with silver strands entered the room in a dusty red nightdress. She was curvy, but she could barely be called plump. Her golden brown eyes danced across the room before settling on her son, "Soul, where were you? I was getting worried! You have to call if you're staying so late."

"Sorry," Soul muttered, not turning towards his mother, "I was at Black Star's. I lost track of time."

The woman sighed, "Darling, listen, I know you said you want to hang out with your friends and all, but I'm worried that… I'm worried about… How much have you gotten done?" Soul's mother was about to take a seat on the couch in front of the old television, before becoming fully aware of all the dirt and grime on it. Instead, she moved towards Soul.

"That's weeks away," Soul said, walking towards the window and away from his mother. He knew she was talking about the concert. "I have time. I'll get it done."

"Soul," His mother did not stop moving towards him, "Your father… can be tough sometimes. You know he's always been a perfectionist. I don't want you to realize too late that there's too little time. I know that your compositions haven't been exactly what your father wanted, and it might take more time than you'd expect."

"I have it under control. It's fine."

"Is it really?"

"Yes."

"Honey, talk to me! I want to help you. Remember that I learned a little piano as well. If anything, I can help you come up with a song on my flute. We can-!"

"No. It's my performance."

"I understand, but you seem so stressed nowadays."

"I'm fine."

"Are you really?"

"Yes."

"You need to get more sleep. I'm seeing bags under your -!"

"Mom, can you please - !"

"Just rest and eat properly. Are you eating enough?"

"Yes, yes, okay. Can you just-?"

"And this place is a mess. You haven't been letting Anna clean up here, have you?"

"Okay, okay, the maid can come up here later. Just please - !"

"The maid. The maid, huh? You say it as if she hasn't lived here since you were a baby. Anna is a dear family friend. Don't call her the maid. What is wrong with you?"

"I'm sorry, okay? Now, Mom, can you - ?"

"And what is on that couch? What did you spill? I always tell you not to bring food up here! Why can't you do-?"

"Mom!" Soul raised his voice, "Just leave, okay? I got it."

His mother didn't say anything for a while, but then spoke, "Soul, get ready for bed. It's past midnight, and it's important to get your sleep." She turned around and started for the door. She was almost at the attic stairs before she said in a low voice, "I'm your mother. Let me help you."

Soul did not say anything in return. He stood, facing the window, listening to his mother's feet hit each step. That night, he did not return to his bedroom. He played video games until around three in the morning before finishing the night, asleep on the attic couch.

The next morning, he awoke feeling disgusting and showing obvious signs that he underslept. Soul, his back aching from the awful position he fell asleep in, made his way down the steps into his room, and then, into his bathroom. He refreshed himself with a steamy shower, getting dressed in simple tee/shorts getup. He wasn't planning to go anywhere today. The white-haired teen then slipped down the steps through the dining room, and into a grand kitchen. The chef, Mr. Mulls, had already started on breakfast – French toast and scrambled eggs with sausage and mozzarella cheese. Slipping a rather large amount of food onto a plate, Soul hurried out of the kitchen and up the marble steps, heading for the attic. He turned on the TV, flipping through channels nonchalantly and dipping his French toast into a big pool of maple syrup that had accumulated on his plate.

A second later, Wes entered the room, wearing a tee and jeans. First, he plugged a large fan into an outlet and turned it to its highest setting, before looking at Soul and smiling. He spoke, "Mornin'."

"Hey," Soul's eyes remained glued to the screen in front of him. He scoot over on the couch, offering Wes a seat. He took it, but Wes had sat down facing his brother. Soul realized that Wes came here to talk, not hang. "Need something?"

"Mom told me about yesterday."

"Nothing happened yesterday."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, we just talked for a bit. Nothing serious."

"Soul, she just wants to help. You could at least - !"

"I don't need help. I'm fine."

"You have bags under your eyes."

"Must be growin' old then. Funny what a few years does to people."

"I'm serious."

"Well, stop because it's ruining my day and it's not even ten yet."

"Reminds me, why are you up before two?"

"What? I can't get up early for once?"

"No."

Soul sighed, "Man, I woke up a half hour ago, give me a break."

Wes frowned, "Don't change the subject. What are you doing for the concert?"

"There was barely a subject to change. You're the one changing it!"

"What are you doing for the-?"

"I heard you."

"Okay… so?"

"Ugh… why does it matter so much? I'm working on it!"

"Soul…"

"I am!"

Wes became fed up with Soul's stubborn excuses and annoying, aloof replies. He waited a minute before rolling his eyes and saying, "Listen, Dad was thinking of canceling your thing because he thought maybe you can't handle it."

"I can do it," Soul said through clenched teeth, anger building inside of him. Of course his father continues to doubt him! I mean, he's not wrong too, but it just shoved the idea into Soul's face that he's still not good enough. "What exactly did Dad say?"

Wes gulped, "It doesn't matter. Just know that - !"

"What did he say?" Soul faced Wes now, "Just tell me."

"It doesn't matter. I'm just warning you that - !"

"What did he say?!"

"…Soul."

"Wes, I know he hates me. You don't have to keep it from me."

"Well, then, you can guess."

Wes got up from the couch, giving up trying to motivate his brother to start composing a song that would be accepted by their father. Soul was stressed. And he was tired. And he was living in a pigsty. And he was angry. Very angry.

Soul turned his attention away from his clusterfuck of a family and focused it on the TV. But his mind wandered once again, now landing on the return of Maka Albarn. So she came back. So did he, but he was gone for much shorter. Only two years. His family moved to a smaller but semi-aristocratic town in California, where they hoped Soul and Wes would be able to show off their talents in better light. There were a lot of mini-concerts thrown by various people in the area, and their father told them that this was their chance to make a name for themselves. Of course, Soul knew that he was only talking to Wes when he said those words. Soul knew that the main reason they moved out of Death City was because his father had been fed up with the amount of normal people (as his dad said, 'Can't stand the commoners.'). The Evans family was barely rich enough to afford their luxuries, yet they acted like they owned a mansion with fortunes to spare.

Did Soul like California? Not at all. The house in which they lived had a much more open layout. It contained a larger living room, dining room, a couple unnecessary parlors, and a small ballroom where his father had placed the instruments to practice in peace. Soul's and Wes's rooms were combined into one very large, incredibly beautiful bedroom, but the lower level of privacy had annoyed both of them. All the people in the town were similar to their relatives, which did not please them, and Soul was especially annoyed with the practice time. There were no other pianos in the house besides the one in the small ballroom. So whenever Soul would be pushed to play or feel the urge himself, his father would watch from outside the glass door. And that wasn't the worst part. No, the worst part was that his father would feel the need to constantly criticize (or a better word for it would be harass with constant insults) him and his playing. He felt like a goldfish in a glass bowl: watched from all angles at all times.

It was probably only six months after their move that Soul had started to complain. There was so much to complain about, he didn't even have to think, and he just let his mouth run. But no one listened. Well, Wes listened, but he couldn't do anything about it. His mother continued to tell him that it would get better in a sympathetic tone. His father, of course, would ignore him. It didn't help that he had to make new friends, which wasn't the most relaxing activity. In the end, he only managed to become friends with two guys, Ox and Harvar. Ox was this nerdy kid with a weird haircut, and Harvar was a loner who seemed to hold a general dislike for everything. He didn't talk to them much.

He continued to beg his family to move back to Death City, where he at least could survive high school, but nothing was being done. After two years which seemed like an eternity, Wes decided he hated living there as well. He talked to their father, and a couple days later, it was announced that by the end of the school year, they would move back to Death City. Soul should've been ecstatic, but the fact that his father ignored him but granted all of his brother's wishes did not sit well with him.

By the end of the summer, Soul was living in Death City again. He knew that Maka had chosen to enroll into Gorgon Academy, but it still hurt when he was not welcomed by her. They were best friends, and now, they weren't even close in the slightest.

The seven-year-old girl ran around the park enthusiastically, her eyes rushing from side to side, searching for another chip. She spotted a Dorito placed on the tree. Quickly, her legs took her to the chip, but stopping before reaching the branch where it was placed. Her small fists were thrown into the air forcefully, aiming at seemingly nothing. Her feet kicked as she spun herself around to dodge something. Her body arched and stumbled, as if it had taken a blow, before an outstretched hand slapped the invisible attacker. She bent her leg and lifted it, as if stepping on the invisible attacker's motionless dead body on the ground.

"Nobody messes with Tiny Bits!" She grabbed the orange-colored chip and ate it. Spinning around, she noticed that her superhero-partner Soul Eater had defeated a monster on the opposite side of the park. She approached him, "Soul, I'm pretty tired, we should take a break."

"Take a break?" Soul ate his well-deserved chip, "Are you kidding, Maka? I was just getting started!"

"What are you talking about?" Maka sighed heavily. "We've been fighting for hours!"

"Okay, okay," Soul took a seat on the dusty dirt of the park, "So what? You want to stop playing?"

"Well…"

"'Cos I don't."

"Well, I'm pretty hungry." She later added, "And a bag of Doritos isn't gonna do it for me."

Soul sighed and rolled his eyes, "Makaaaaaaa, ughhhhh."

"That's not making me less hungry."

"Do you even have anything else to eat? Or money?"

"Um…"

"Then there's nothing we can do about it. C'mon help me set up the next set of Doritos."

"Tiny Bits is tired."

"Ugh, Maka, no."

"It's getting late, too."

"So what?"

"Maybe we should go home."

"No, Maka," Soul shook his head, "Okay, we can take a break and then play again."

"I'm still hungry," Maka crossed her arms.

"So all of the sudden, you're just gonna go home?"

"Yeah," Maka nodded, gesturing to her bicycle parked near the park entrance, "My mom told me not to drive the bike home past sunset."

"Then how are you gonna get home when its past sunset?"

Maka rolled her eyes, "Soul, she means that I have to be home at sunset. And, look, the sky's getting orange."

"That doesn't mean anything."
"I'm not an idiot."
"Could've fooled me."

Maka started for her bike, "You suck. I'm going home."

"Okay, okay, I didn't mean it."

"I'm still going home."

"But if you go home then I have to go home."

"Yeah, that's how it works," Maka took her helmet off the bike seat and placed it on her head.

"But I don't want to go yet."

"Stop acting like a preschooler. Just go home."

Soul watched Maka swing her leg to the other side of the bike and mount it, she was about to start moving before Soul got up and grabbed her arm, saying, "Wait… Just a little bit more."

He said the words with such dread and sorrow that Maka got off her bike and took a seat on the dirt. Soul did the same. She spoke softer this time, "Why don't you want to go to your house?" When Soul remained silent, Maka added, "… do you hear them yell at each other?"

Soul looked up, "Do your parents yell at each other?"

Maka nodded, "Yeah. A lot. I read a lot of books and listen to music so I don't have to hear them – but it doesn't work well."

"… What do they say?"

"Really bad things. They get really angry. They're not in love anymore."

"Why do you think that?"

"I know why they yell," Maka looked at the ground, feeling tears coming, but not wanting to cry in front of Soul. "Papa kisses and dates other girls."

"How do you know?"

"I see him with them sometimes," Maka felt a tear run down her cheek, and she fought a shaky voice, "And that's what they scream about. Mama doesn't know for sure, though. She hasn't seen Papa with those girls. But I don't want to tell her, because then, I think she'll leave. She tells Papa that she's going to leave. I don't want her to."

"That's messed up."

"Yeah," Maka smiled a bit while wiping her tears. "So, what happens in your house? Do they yell?"

"No," Soul stared at the ground, "They hate me."

"Your parents?" Maka raised a brow, "No they don't, not really!"

"No, they really do. It's because I'm bad at piano. My dad hates me because I'm not as good at playing instruments as my brother."

"I'm sure you just think that! There's no way - !"

"Maka, whenever he hears me play he tells me that I'm not practicing and that I'll never be ready to perform. Even though I do practice. He says that I should pay attention to Wes, and be more like him."

"Soul - !"

"I hear him talking to Wes and my mom. I like Wes, he sometimes fights for me. He tells my dad to stop yelling at me so much, but my dad never listens. My mom is too scared to say anything. She says that its best to just do what my dad says, but I'm sick of it."

"You should talk to your dad about it, then."

"I do! I do and he never listens. He thinks I'm a failure. I heard him saying to my mom that he thinks that I'm not worthy to be in the family because I'm not talented enough. Everyone I'm related to knows how to play an instrument, and they're amazing. But I can't play the things they play. I'm not good enough."

"…Soul."

"I suck. And I have to practice. And my dad thinks I don't try. But I do. And I know that if I come home when he's still awake, he's going to beat me up again. I know he is."

"Beat you up? You mean… he hits you?"

"Sometimes. Not a lot. Only when he's really angry," Soul lifted up his shirt a bit to reveal a deep purple bruise on his hip, "Last week I told him that was going to run away."

"Oh my gosh! He can't do that! That's not right - !"

"Don't tell anyone," Soul hid his bruise again, "Don't. I'm serious. But now you know why I don't want to go home."

"…who else knows?"

"Besides my family… only you."

Maka reached over and pulled Soul into a tight hug. He hugged her back. She whispered into his ear, "You're my best friend and I think you're awesome."

She felt him grin on her shoulder and heard, "I am pretty cool, aren't I." A few minutes later, she heard him add, "But you're just as cool. You're my best friend, too."

They continued to hug for a few more minutes, listening to each other breathe and enjoying each other's company. It was past sunset when the two seven-year-olds decided to sleep in the creaky old tree house in the park. The trouble they got into the next day was worth it.

Soul smirked thinking of that day. Maka had been there for him when he had no one. Wes was awesome, but he didn't understand hating your own family. Maka did. Maka was hurt. She understood. And she knew what to say. He's glad she came back for the summer, but it doesn't feel like nearly enough. Soul didn't want to hang out with her more; he wanted his best friend back.

Author's Note:

Thank you so much for reading. I loved all your reviews – please keep on writing them. They really make my day. Tell me all your thoughts and suggestions! Thank you again to all of those who favorite or followed this story. It means a lot. I don't own Soul Eater or Doritos, which should be obvious. So, please review and don't refrain from following me on tumblr. The link is located on my profile. I realize that I was going to refrain from uploading the chapters until they are all written, but I'll make some exceptions. Sorry once again and thank you!

-Zu