A/N: This chapter has been rewritten! ~ BAD
Zexion POV:
Beep, Beep, Beep!
I hissed under my breath, cursing whatever was making that godforsaken beeping noise. Finally, after waiting ten minutes for the beeping to stop, I allowed my mouth to drop open in shock when I realized it was a school day, and now I was ten minutes later than I normally was when I woke up.
Shit, shit, shit!
I literally jumped up out of my bed, racing down the stairs and colliding with a very solid object that I was certain wasn't supposed to be there. I looked up, my midnight blue eyes locking with equally dark ones, a soft smile on my mother's face.
"Mom?! What are you doing here?" I asked, eyebrow raised and confusion sketched on my face.
"Is a mother not allowed to make her son breakfast on a morning, or even be here on a morning?"
"It's not that I don't want you here... It's more of a 'why the hell aren't you at work'?" I asked, looking behind my mother's slim figure and spying toast on the table. "And for the record, toast doesn't qualify as 'homemade breakfast.'" At this she hit me with the tea towel she had in her hand.
"Yes it does! And the court procedure that was supposed to be today was postponed, until the police can find more evidence against my client. So I thought, 'why go to the office for pointless crap, when I can actually be there on a morning when my son wakes up?!' But you had me waiting on that stool for ten minutes mister!"
"Sorry mom, I didn't realize my alarm clock was going off. Well, I did, but I didn't actually realize it was my alarm..." I frowned slightly, laughing when my mother started to look more confused than me. Shrugging, she handed me a small, blue wrapped package, the plate of toast and then said proudly:
"I wrapped the present for you, because I'm awesome." She smiled, and for a moment she was more of a friend than my mother, but then she added the awesome comment, and that just ruined the whole picture. I shook my head fondly, kissing her on the cheek and darting back up the stairs.
As I was getting changed, I pondered on the quote that generally covered the news most days. If you become a teenage mother, then rough times are certainly ahead.
That wasn't true, and my mother was a fine example of that. She had me at just sixteen years of age, married my father at eighteen, and was widowed at twenty. A single, young mother who had no qualifications. Or so most people thought. My mother had brains and didn't hesitate to prove people wrong when they tutted disapprovingly when they realized that she was only sixteen years older than her child. A young mother, and yet a successful, well paid lawyer with a son who was the exact opposite of what they expected me to be. Hell my mother was a strong woman.
I stuffed the package into my school bag, finished getting changed, freshened myself up, ran down the stairs at high speed whilst managing to give my mother another kiss on the cheek, and was halfway out the door to get the bus before she grabbed my wrist, looking at me like I was an idiot.
"You're silly. I'm home this morning, remember? You don't need to get the school bus. Therefore, you have another half hour before you need to leave for school. Ring up your friend, Demyx, and I'll take him to school with you." After that, the seriousness left her face when she hit me again with the towel, a smirk on her face as she went back to the kitchen. I scowled after her, knowing full well that she knew I would rush to get ready when I didn't need to.
"Thanks Mrs Numara! I really appreciate the lift!" Demyx shouted towards my mother as he attempted to close the car door. I felt the stares of many on my back that normally came whenever my mother dropped me off at school. Always the same routine. She would tell me that she would use the normal inconspicuous grey car that was parked in the back of our garage to take me to school. I'd ring Demyx, telling him to meet me outside his house in a few minutes, whilst my mother would go get the car. Next minute, the sleek, newest, black and purple Spyker C8 Aileron or the new Bertone Mantide would be parked out the front, both cars having being specially modified to fit three people instead of two. Her excuse would always be 'the grey Bora's exhaust isn't working!' We'd drive to school, and most people would stare in utter shock and amazement at the car and stare me down with a look that would clearly scream 'the geek has money!'
Today my mother had opted for the Spyker, and Demyx seemed to be having problems pulling the door down and closing it in place. I did it for him, pushing all my weight down on the door to pull it down into place. It clicked, and my mother shouted out the window that the door light had indeed switched off, before speeding off down the road whilst showing off her driving skills.
Both me and Demyx made our way towards the library, which was open to students on mornings, but never really visited by people other than me and Demyx. I could still feel the burning stares of others as I pushed through the door to the school library, taking my seat in a chair at the back of the room, whilst Demyx collapsed down onto a squishy chair next to mine. He twisted in the chair, resting his head against my knees and handing a small, purple package to me. I raised an eyebrow, taking the package and then smirking.
"Why thank you Demyx, I'm glad you remembered my birthday."
"It's also mine too!"
"Oh really? Must have slipped my mind..." I muttered, trying not to laugh at the look of disappointment and hurt on Demyx's face.
"You didn't remember?"
"Remember what? The reason I spent five days trying to find you this?" I asked, pulling the thin, long package out of my school bag.
"Zexy, you did remember!" He cried, clutching my legs happily.
"Hey Demyx?"
"Yeah?"
"Get off my legs!"
He did so, and I proceeded to open the present he got me slowly, Demyx's eyes on my face the whole time to watch my expression. I allowed a small smile to grace my lips when I saw the cover of the book. Broadway musicals of the 1940's. I'd wanted this for months.
I grinned at him, before watching him open his own present that I had got him for his birthday. He grinned like the Cheshire cat when he opened it, jumping up and hugging me tightly around my waist, almost sending me toppling off my chair.
"Zexy! Thank you so much! This is the best birthday present ever! Thank you!" He hugged me tightly, closing off my circulation as the book I had gotten him was held in one hand. It was a book, yes, but it contained every music piece for every music, all written in Sitar notes and Chords.
And that is how, for the first time in my life, I was kicked out of a library for being too loud. Oh how my mother would die from laughter if she found out.
Demyx POV:
Zexion's mother picked us up in the Bertone after school, driving quickly through the streets and skidding to a halt outside Zexion's house. I managed to close the door to this car, with it being a simple normal door. The red paint showed me my reflection, and I noticed I was very pale today. I shook it off, waving to Mrs Numara when she sped off, telling Zexion she had to go to her office for some files.
When Zexion had unlocked the door and quickly made his way to the kitchen, I hung my bag up on the rack that was, according to Mrs Numara, 'mine', and collapsed onto the couch, breathing in the scent of Zexion that lingered in the cushions. My back protested against the softness of the couch, too used to the hardboard wood of my bed frame for the past two days. I don't think Zexion has noticed my body getting more bruised and battered as the days wear on, and I don't think he realizes I need him after every beating, that I whimper softly for him when the fist hits me harder and harder than before. But I shouldn't need him, and so I don't tell him. Perhaps Zexy even thinks the beatings are getting less frequent!
I smiled inwardly when I breathed in again, Zexion's scent filling my nostrils, before my legs were pushed aside, Zexion's small body sitting on the couch next to me. He shoved a tub of Ben&Jerrys ice cream in my face, a metal spoon dug halfway into the chocolate mixture. I accepted it, looking up at him confusedly. He only smiled sadly, taking my blue pillow from the floor and leaning against it.
"Helps heal the mental pain." Was all he said. I looked at him again, before sticking a spoonful into my mouth, my teeth protesting against the cold, sugary substance. My quilt was tucked neatly in the corner next to the fire, so I have no idea how my pillow came to be next to Zexion.
For the past five months, Zexion's mom had been slowly, inconspicuously buying things suitable for me staying over, including my own toothbrush, quilt and pillow, pyjamas and a pair of jogging bottoms to sleep in. No top though, and the way her eyes kept drifting from me to Zexy when she explained that I could lend one of his tops was slightly suspicious.
"How did you know?" I asked him, my mind back onto the matter at hand.
"Your tops and trousers are slowly getting longer and longer, and every time someone brushes past you, you wince. It may go unnoticed by others, but I can see you wince when you're bumped into. I can feel you wince when we hug, even if you don't mean to. And I can see the fear in your eyes when you leave for your house, even if it's only to grab a few days' supply of clothes. But most of all, I can see it. I can see that you've been thrown around even if you've only been gone for your home for ten minutes. I know you're lying when you say you need to practise Sitar during P.E lessons. But what I don't know Dem, is why you do nothing about it." I suddenly felt two foot tall when he looked at me, realizing he had seen straight through my lies and pathetic attempts to hide the truth.
"B-because, even when he hits me, I still love him. He's my dad Zex, and more than half the time he's drunk when he hits me. And besides, who would look after Namine and me if he was locked up?"
"Do you have to ask?"
"Yes, I do."
"You could always come and live with me and mom. Mom loves you, and I'm willing to bet everything that she would adore Namine." Zexion answered, wrapping his arms around me and hugging me tightly. Holding me close and whispering comforting words to me. That was what I cherished most. But the worst part of this? The worst thing is that he can do all he does, and not realize the effect on me it has. Every hug makes me fall more for him. And he'll never know. Because it's the one and only secret I have to hide from him. And inside, it's hurting more than my bruises.