Huh? What's going on?

I opened my eyes and for a moment I just kept laying there, my mind fuzzy and my body trying to pull me back under. I wasn't sure what had woke me up, so I simply rolled over, pulling the covers up further. I resettled and was about to go back to sleep when something stopped me. My room itself was empty, but I could hear several people walking around the house, their shoes clanking on the floor, their voices gruff and serious.

"Let's talk outside for a moment, Mr. Peyton," I heard a man say.

At that, I clambered out of bed, untangling the sheets from my legs, my fatigue vanishing. I had a very bad feeling about this…

I was in the hall the next second. I could see the shadows of people outside, the shortest of them obviously being my dad. I found myself rooted to the floor, right in the middle of the living room. An odd, fearful feeling ripped through me, a feeling I didn't like at all. The TV was flashing, showing the aggression of football players as the announcer exclaimed things I couldn't focus on; everything suddenly looked twisted and cruel…like the very walls were pressing in on me, tighter and tighter…I can't breathe...I forced a breath down my throat, a part of me already knowing...

I searched the house, but no one seemed to be inside.

My bare feet slapped the floor as I inched towards my parents' room; the door was ajar, so I slipped inside.

All the shades were up, leaving the room bright and open. My mom laid asleep in bed, the blankets pulled up to her chin.

"Mom?" I whispered. I stood next to the bed, tapping her shoulder.

Her skin was gray, and she was stone cold. A horrible choking feeling gripped my heart. It can't be—

"Mom?" I shook her harder. And harder. No response.

My lungs felt like they were closing, my heart felt like it had stopped abruptly. Hopelessness….despair…..desperation….none of it compares. If her eyes don't open…

"Mom? Wake up! Mom, you have to wake up!"

I was screaming, but I didn't realize it at the time. There were no tears in my eyes, instead there was a disease sprouting in my throat and spreading throughout my body; it burnt through cells and tissues, letting the pain envelope me completely and leaving me frozen.

I shook her shoulders, her head bobbing lifelessly and her hair falling around her, which made her look like a doll, and nothing more. Still, no response.

Someone was grabbing me, telling me to calm down. I threw the person off of me.

It was a guy wearing a blue collared shirt. He looked at me sadly, and kind of awkwardly.

My dad was behind him. "Could you go wait in your room, Roxas?"

He looked as shaken as I felt—he was pale and sweat dotted his face.

"Is she…is she…?" I heard myself asking.

The man nodded. "She's dead."

It didn't seem real until he spoke those two words, those two, evil words that were like a death sentence.

They were all I needed.

I ran to my room, slamming the door behind me, and dropping to the floor, sobbing. How could this happen? She's only forty-two! How could she leave me here alone?

I cried until my eyes and throat were raw. I heard the men carrying her out; it sounded like they dropped her. I heard my dad crying along with me. I heard everything.

No matter how hard I tried, my chest ached and I felt like I was dying. Music, TV, video games, nothing worked. My mind wouldn't go blank; all I could think about is the fact that I will never see my mom again. I will never talk to her again, I will never confide in her again, I will never watch horror movies with her again, I will never see her again. I…will...never…see…her…again…

I went to bed that night with emptiness gnawing at my stomach…I hadn't eaten all day…

I was so drained and worn out, that the second my head hit my pillow, I was out. For that, I am eternally grateful.

I woke up around eight the next day. It was pouring outside, and I was home alone.

It's Monday, I thought numbly. School…

I made a big breakfast: pancakes, eggs, sausage—just to have something to do. I barely ate it.

I turned on the TV, but there was a commercial on for my mom's favorite soap opera, I'm Always There. I was crying.

I picked up a book, but she had left a receipt in it where she had scribbled "Buy milk." I was crying.

There was no refugee. The pictures, the furniture, the walls, the very air reminded me of her. Memories became chains, "I love you"s became tears.

I got up, looking for something to do. The laundry was starting to pile up…

I lost myself in a mountain of clothes. Pick an article of clothing up, decide whether it's light or dark, sort it, repeat. My hands knew what to do, and for once my mind was empty as I concentrated on nothing but laundry. Mindless chores was better than thinking about her. About how much she means to me and—

Pick an article of clothing up, decide whether it's light or dark, sort it, repeat, repeat, repeat. I found myself staring down at my mom's faded tie-dye shirt. I was twisting the fabric tighter and tighter around my wrist, my fingers turning blue. I forced the tears away even as they rose in my eyes.

"HOW COULD YOU LEAVE ME HERE?" I screamed, throwing the shirt at the wall and slumping against the washing machine. "How…how…" I wept.

I picked myself up, and threw the dark pile into the washing machine, starting the first load.

I left because doing laundry was definitely a bad idea. I glanced around our small house. I could do the dishes, mop, sweep, or vacuum. I started with the dishes although my list just kept stacking up. I would clean something, just to find three more things that needed to get done. It wasn't exactly relaxing, or happy, or sad, or much of anything…it was just dull work I was doing so that I wouldn't have to think about...anything.

I saw my dad's feet from where I was on my knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor.

"Roxas," he said. "Let's go out and eat."

I scrubbed harder, trying to get a single spot to disappear. My arm was cramping up as I rubbed up and down repeatedly, with such fraught, and such a frantic rhythm, that it hurt.

"Your mother wouldn't like seeing you like this."

Must get the spot out, must get the spot out. No one's home yet, it's just me.

"You have to go back to school sometime."

"It's been one day," I muttered. I gripped the sponge harder, making soapy water squirt out in little gushes.

"We need to talk."

Shut up. The spot was finally out, so I dipped the sponge back into the bucket of water and began swiping at another tile.

"Look at me."

I glared up at him. "I'm not done cleaning. Go away, you're making the floor dirty."

He sighed. I expected him to yell, or to grab the sponge out of my hands, but instead he just left to go watch the news.

Peace and quiet. I kept tidying up until around ten o' clock, when I crashed, exhausted.

The next day was no better. Nor the next.

I'd cry my eyes out, clean, and sleep. That's it. On the fourth day since my mom's death, my dad came home late at night to find me curled up in a ball on the couch, tears and snot running down my face.

His face darkened, and he frowned harshly, meaning he was pissed."Roxas, you have to stop. You're stronger than that," he said, with a hint of scorn in his voice.

I blinked at him, uncaring.

"You will get out of this. Now go make me supper," he demanded.

I stood up, wiping my nose off on my sleeve. My sleeve was now slimy. Ew. I grabbed a box of Hamburger Helper, and set out all the ingredients. I defrosted the meat and dumped it in a skillet. Soon it was sizzling, the smell drifting up to me. It was surprisingly unappetizing….then again, I hadn't had much of an appetite since…

I began chopping it with a spatula. Then I drained it, adding the rest of the ingredients. My mom and I would spend a lot of time here in the kitchen, baking pretty much anything.

I put a piece of pasta in my mouth before I could start crying. It tasted fine, although I slipped in a special ingredient, just for my dad…coughlaxativecough.

I gave it to him and he immediately asked if I was going to eat any.

Nope; I was going to bed.

XxXxX

About a month passed. My dad gave up on trying to get me to go to school. My life had become a cycle: sleep, eat, clean, lie around. One bitterly cold day, I climbed out of bed and went to the living room. The light was slanting in through the windows, landing on the large pile of homework I am suppose to be working through. I closed the curtains, locked the front door and started flipping through a magazine. I had turned my cell phone off; it had been off for a long while. I couldn't stand the constant ringing. That's also why I locked the front door… I could pretend that I wasn't home, so that my friends would stop coming. They were persistent, but I had managed to avoid talking to them this entire time. The same goes with my dad…the bare minimum, routine stuff only.

So when the doorbell rang, I ignored it. It kept ringing the same mindless tune, making a headache split across my temple.

"Go away," I groaned, setting my magazine down.

I peeked through the curtains to see two men standing there wearing black suits and glancing at their watches impatiently.

I uncertainly opened the door. They looked up at me, the taller of the two clearing his throat. "Roxas Peyton? May we come in?"

"Um, who—"

"We need to ask you some questions."

I let them inside, and we sat around the table. I got the feeling that they were from the government, and I immediately thought, "what'd dad do this time?"

I stood up, suddenly nervous."Would you like coffee or something to drink?" I offered.

They shook their heads. "Sit."

I did so, uneasy.

"Mr. Peyton, the autopsy results on your mother were just completed. She died from a heart attack."

"Oh…so, it wasn't…painful?"

"She died peacefully. Although the doctors found some rather odd things. Do you have any idea of what these things might be?"

I shook my head.

"There were bruises and cuts all over her body, and she suffered from some internal bleeding. The bruises and cuts were only located in places that could be hidden by clothing, which suggests that this was done on purpose."

I hated the way he said that, so nonchalant and uncaring, like my mom was a piece of furniture, not a person. I bit that away as they slid pictures over to me. The pictures showed…..these horrible things…one bruise, on her back, was larger than my fist and had an appalling green tinge to it.

I shoved the pictures back towards them, my stomach warning me to stop looking. It tossed and turned, so I took a few slow breathes to try to calm down.

"We'll cut to the chase. Do you know how she received these contusions?"

"No." My voice was shaking.

"Do you know of anyone who might have done this?"

"…no."

"Was she acting differently in the last month or so?"

"Er, yeah, I guess."

"In what ways?"

"She became quiet and…withdrawn and sad."

"Why do you think these changes occurred?"

"I don't know…it seemed to have started after my grandma Shelley died."

"I see…have you considered the possibility that she was doing things to intentionally harm herself?"

"No!" I paused, regretting my outburst as they stared at me seriously. "...she wouldn't do that."

"Mr. Peyton, we have suspicions that your father is abusive."

"W-What?" I froze.

"Judging by your reaction, you are either surprised or pretending to be surprised."

"I'm not pretending." I clenched my teeth together. "Why would he do such a horrible thing?"

"Many different reasons. Has your father ever harmed you on purpose?"

"No."

"Has he ever touched you inappropriately?"

"No."

"Has his words or actions ever made you uncomfortable?"

"No."

"Has he ever harmed Mrs. Peyton on purpose?"

"Not that I've seen."

"Has he ever treated her unfairly, or different compared to others?"

"…yeah."

"In what ways?"

"He would yell at her a lot over the stupidest things."

"Like?"

"Like overcooked chicken or for forgetting to pay the water bill, or for spending too much money. Things like that, especially if it was work-related," I listed rapidly, exasperated. These people don't know what they are talking about. Even if my dad wasn't perfect, I know he would never lay a finger on my mom. Never.

"Do you think he could have been the one to have harmed Mrs. Peyton?"

"Um, I don't know. I wouldn't put anything past him, but he's not capable of—"

"Everyone's capable, Mr. Peyton."

"Ok," I said, unsure.

"We will be in touch."

As swiftly as they arrived, they left.

That night, I sat at my laptop, watching YouTube videos. It was something I found that could stop the twirling thoughts in my head. (Whatifhehurther?)

A message popped up on my screen.

Olette: Roxas? Are you there?

I should ignore it. Should.

Roxas: Yeah.

Olette: Where have you been? Everyone's worried sick.

Roxas: Maine.

Olette: Why?

Roxas: Family emergency.

It is easy to lie via Internet.

Suddenly, I heard a female voice.

Roxas: Be right back.

I jumped up, and raced towards the living room: the location of the voice. For some reason, I was expecting to see my mom. See her smiling face, see her eyes light up, feel her give me a giant bear hug, hear her telling me—

Instead I found a woman with neat, brown hair that fell down past her shoulder blades. She had a young, heart-shaped face with soft features. Her eyes were warm and a deep, chocolate color that seemed to shine. Her posture was perfect, and her body language was open and relaxed. The smile on her face was friendly and sincere, although there was something hovering behind it….nervousness? She was rather pretty...she could easily pass as a college student, she was probably twenty-six at the absolute oldest. She was wearing a long-sleeve blue shirt, and a dark blue skirt that started from her left thigh and ruffled down to her right shin. She beamed kindly at me.

My dad has his arm wrapped around her waist.

"Roxas, meet Kelly," he introduced.

My eyes became daggers. "Who's she?"

"Hi Roxas," she said, her voice soothing and gentle. "I'm your dad's secretary—and girlfriend." She leaned towards me, almost protectively. "I know you're going through a rough time right now, but believe me, I understand. In fact, I have a son your age who—"

"You. Don't. Understand. Anything!" I yelled. "I can't believe you!"

My dad reached for me; I backed away, tears filling my eyes.

"Stay away from me!" I screamed. I ran away, away from Kelly's motherly aura, her sympathy, her "understanding" and I ran away from my dad's arm snaked around her, from his possible affair (it sure as hell seemed like it!) and from the possibility that he had been hurting my mom.

I locked myself in my room.

"Roxas!" Kelly banged on my door. Not my dad, her. "Let us explain!"

I turned on my stereo, blaring Three Days Grace. Eventually she gave up and left.

Olette: Roxas?

I sighed.

Roxas: What?

Olette: Are you alright?

Roxas: I'm great.

Olette: You seem….different.

Roxas: How?

Olette: I don't know. Are you coming to school tomorrow? Or are you still in Maine?

Roxas: I'm still in Maine. I have to go.

Olette: Ok, bye.

Roxas: Bye.

"Open the door!" my dad commanded once the banging continued.

I ignored him.

"I need to talk to you!" he tried.

"I don't want to talk to you!"

"Open it, or I'll bust it down!"

I unlocked it.

He came into my room, with Kelly trailing behind him.

"Why are you still here?" I sneered at her.

"Don't think I'm replacing your mother," she said, "because I'm not."

"She died, in case you didn't get the memo."

"Roxas, don't be upset, but—"

My dad grabbed her hand, intervening. "We've been seeing each other for a while, and I promise that your mother was ok with it."

"Ok with it? How could she be ok with it?" I exploded.

"Yes, we agreed that not all of my needs were being met."

"What, you like younger women? You…you killed her!" I didn't believe that, but it was the best retort I could think of.

My dad blinked, surprised. Then he became furious, the vein in his forehead popping out. "I would never do that! I loved your mother, can't you understand that, you little bastard?"

Kelly grabbed his arm, "Calm down, Oscar. Don't take it out on him."

Somehow, that comforted him, and he stopped himself.

"Did your mother talk to you about Baltimore?"

"Yes," I grumbled. "I like Montana just fine."

"Roxas," he said lightly, trying to make it sound appealing, "Kelly is going to be living with us from now on. Her and her family."

"WHAT?"

"We'll be a family," Kelly said meekly. She started to say something else, but I glared at her, and she shut up.

"We will never be a family!"

I found myself running blindly, throwing the front door open and racing out into the cold air.

How could he do this to me? How can he forget about mom that fast, and get together with some chick named Kelly? Kelly is a name for a blonde, scatterbrained woman who lives in California. I don't need a stupid family, all I need is me, myself and I. I'll stay here, and my dad and Kelly can go live in Maryland by themselves. They'd be glad (giddy) to get rid of me. No more Roxas around to mope and eat all the food—hooray. If my mom was here—

Again, I was at Naminé's house. She answered the door, squinting at me through the darkness. "Roxas? Is that you?" she smiled impulsively, already figuring out who it was. I took me hood down, and immediately her face was mangled with alarm. "What's wrong?" she exclaimed.

She let me inside and I, wordlessly, sat down on her kitchen counter. "Want a Dr. Pepper?" she asked.

I shrugged and she gave me one. It was ice cold and the aluminum pressed against my skin.

"Roxas…" she said heavy-heartedly. "Where have you been?"

"Olette didn't tell you?"

"No."

I brushed this conversation aside. Abruptly I said, "I'm moving."

"Wait…what? Where?"

"Baltimore."

"Maryland?"

I nodded.

"That's across the country. A drive from here to there would take days…" she paused. "When are you moving?"

"I don't know when…but for all I know, it could be tonight."

"Why? You can't move," her eyes widened. "Don't go! Maybe I'm being selfish, considering that you have to leave everyone you know behind, but…but…"

I looked away. "Maybe I could stay here for a while."

"Well…yeah, yes, you can stay," she said ambiguously.

"Are you busy?"

"No, it's just—"

My phone rang, cutting her off. I couldn't remember having turned it back on, but I guess I must've. I looked at the screen; my dad was trying to reach me. I wanted to throw my phone out the window, but how would that have looked like to Naminé?

So I answered it.

"Hello?"

"Where are you?"

He didn't sound mad at all. Weird.

"At a friend's house," I said.

"Listen, did anyone come over today?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Who?"

"People with the autopsy results." Crap, I didn't want to be saying that in front of Naminé. She already seemed suspicious, and at the word 'autopsy' her eyes widened further.

"Oh…come home, please."

"Is Kelly there with you? Is that why you're being so nice?" I accused him.

"Roxas, we're leaving in the morning."

I gulped. "That…soon?"

"Yes, we already talked to the mortgage company. You need to pack."

"No." I swayed on my feet, and Naminé grabbed my arm to steady me. Too much was changing in a short period of time, and my body nor my mind could handle it. "You can't make me."

"I'm sorry, you have to. It's for the best."

I hate it when adults say stuff like that. "You…how can you be so calm?"

"Come home."

"I told you no."

"I'll come get you."

"You don't know where I am!"

Naminé must have gotten the gist of things, because she uttered softly, "Roxas, it's ok, go."

"I bet he's at Nami's house!" someone yelled. "I'll go get him!"

"N-No, I'm not!"

"See you in a few," my dad said before hanging up.

"You're leaving already?" Naminé asked, melancholy.

I just looked at her for a moment. Her hair was wet and dark, she must have just taken a shower…she had on a blue hoodie, white pajama bottoms, and her feet were bare, showing the clear nail polish that she wore on both her fingernails and her toenails. I knew so much about her: how she was soft-spoken and shy with anyone she didn't know, how she enjoyed watching cartoons just to make fun of them, how she loved her sister to death, how she was often stubborn and persistent. Her favorite color's white, her favorite animals are seals, she loves swimming, reading, and anything artistic. She hates fish, splinters, and hot weather. Even with all that, I want to learn more about her.

I hopped off the counter and hugged her. She wrapped her own arms around me, and, I must admit, I clung to her.

"I don't know what's wrong…but it'll be ok," she whispered.

"I know."

I held her for a while, and she must have known that I didn't want to talk because she was silent. I think I needed her more than she ever realized….since the thought of moving away was unbearable. To not be able to see (my mom) her, even Hayner, Pence, or Olette ever again…I would lose everything. I would rather stay here!...that sounds better than to live with my dad and Kelly in Maryland…even in my head, I think of her name with disdain and contempt.

"Naminé!" I heard Kairi call out.

Naminé let her arms drop. "I'm in the kitchen!"

Kairi appeared. She looked like a mess. She red hair was in disarray, her eyes were puffy and scarlet colored, and she was wearing gray sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt instead of her usual blouse and skirt. "Roxas?" she asked, her voice rugged and hoarse.

"Hi Kairi," I said politely.

"Naminé," she tugged on Naminé's hoodie. "I thought you were just getting more chips…"

"Sorry," Naminé said. "Roxas showed up."

Kairi rubbed her eyes. "You look a lot l-l-like him, Roxas. "

Tears began streaming down her face and she ducked her head, and rushed upstairs, hotfooted.

"Is she ok?" I asked, confused. Naminé was staring at the doorway, as if longing to go and comfort her sister. Knowing her, that is exactly what she wanted to be doing right now. And I was getting in the way of that.

"She'll be fine eventually," Naminé said, distracted. She turned back to me. "When are you leaving?"

"In the morning."

Naminé sighed. She picked up my hand and began to trace the lines in my palm. "You'll live a long life," she said. "And you'll have good luck and fortune…"

"You think?" I laughed darkly.

"Yes, I do think so."

"I have to go soon."

"Yeah…"

I looked down into her eyes; I could see my reflection in them. Her eyes shimmered, either from the kitchen light or from tears. Her face was right there…I bent down and she turned her head up. I pressed my lips gently on hers.

She kissed me back and—

"Brother!"

We broke apart from our split-second kiss to see Sora beaming in the doorway.

"Umm…" I muttered. "What did you just say?"

"I've always wanted a brother!"

It hit me…oh god no. "Kelly…"

"My mom, yep!" His grin vanished as he seemed to realize something. "Nami, is…Kairi around?"

Naminé cocked her head to the side. "Yeah, she's upstairs, crying. I hope you know how heartbroken she is…"

"I…" he scratched his head, guilty. "Can you tell her sorry for me?"

Naminé shrugged.

"Sora?"

Yes, Kairi appeared out of nowhere and was now staring at Sora, a lit cigarette hanging from her mouth.

Sora scratched his head awkwardly. "Hi Kairi."

"Why are you here?"

"They're going to find out that you're smoking," Naminé pointed out.

Kairi inhaled and blew a large puff of smoke towards her; it reeked of tobacco. "I'm waiting for an apology."

"I'm sorry, how many times do I have to say it?" Sora said, slightly exasperated.

Kairi flicked her cigarette, ashes flying towards him. He jumped out of the way just in time. "Get out of here, I don't want to see your lying face anymore," she whimpered. It was obviously that she was trying to act cold and uncaring, but in reality she appeared to be wretched with sadness.

"I'll wait for you outside," Sora said to me. He paused at the doorway. "I really am sorry…"

He left.

Naminé half yanked and half grabbed the cigarette out of Kairi's mouth; she threw it down the garbage disposal, having it whirl down the drain. "Go get the air freshener, Kai."

"Naminé?" I asked once Kairi was gone.

"I'm sorry that I have my hands full putting her back together," she murmured.

"It's ok. I have to—" I paused as Kairi reentered, spraying mist everywhere that smelled like rain. "Go anyway," I finished.

She nodded. "Call me, 'k?"

"I will. Bye."

"Bye."

I walked out of her house for the last time. Last time…thinking that makes the weight in my chest grow heavier and heavier. My legs feel as if they are bound by chains and heavy cinderblocks, but I dragged myself away, forcing myself to not look back. I dragged myself away from Naminé, my old life.

Sora and I walked back to my house. I didn't want to talk whatsoever, although I was forced to ask, "How can you be so happy about this?", after seeing Sora walking light on his feet, with a pleased smile on his face.

"I dunno…" he smiled sheepishly.