super sorry it's taken so long! anywhoo... happy whatever-the-last-holiday-was-that-i-didnt-get-you-something jo! ;D


The days I spent so cold so hungry,
Were full of hate,
And I was so angry,
The scars run deep inside this tattooed body,
There's things I'll take to my grave,
But I'm okay…I'm okay…

and sometimes i forgive
but this time i'll admit
that i miss you...i miss you
hey, Dad...

-Hey Dad by Good Charlotte


Chapter 12
Second Place isnt so bad

I placed both my hands in a steady river, cupped them together, and pulled the clear liquid to my lips. I repeated this motion quite a few times before my thirst was clenched. I had been starving in that dungeon for too long. I cupped the water once more and then placed the cup over my face. I felt the sweet liquid slip through my fingers and fall down my face. I repeated the motion a few times.

I got up and sat down on a boulder that jutted out over the water. It almost looked like a natural half-bridge, it didn't reach to the other side of the river. I sat on the extension and let my feet dangle down over the rushing water. I swung my feet and stretched them, flexing my feet and calves.

I looked to my right and across the other half of the river Francis was sitting on the bank, his knees hugged to his chest, and he watched the water float by. He looked older than I remember, but, then again, a lot of time has passed since I really cared. His back was boney and hunched, his arms relaxed as they draped over his knees. His face was wrinkled and shallow with large black bags under both eyes. His eyes were paler—even though I thought it was impossible for those eyes to be paler than they were. They watched the water in slow, sluggish movements and when the light of the moon reflected in his eyes, it was dull. Hadn't those been the eyes that I just saw cut through the souls of those organization members? Here, they didn't look so scary, just worn out.

He reached down and pulled up a dark stick—his sword, I realized. He held it out, testing the long thin blade, and ran a boney finger down to the handle. He let it fall back to the ground, but it wasn't dismissed.

I pulled my legs to my chest and rested my chin on my knees. My eyes followed the flickers of light the moon projected off the swirling river. For the first time in a long time, I felt like my mind was clear. I let my eyes slip closed and just enjoyed the moment I knew couldn't last. I let the breeze ruffle through my hair and drank in the scent of the rich forest. Such a clear mind… too bad it couldn't last.

I opened my eyes slowly and prepared for the words that I knew I had to say. The exact same words that I knew would take away my clear mind and send it plunging back into the abyss it's been struggling in for years.

But the words simply had to be said.

"You know…" I began, my voice soft. My tongue rubbed against the roof of my mouth, as if begging me not to say another word. To stop now and be able to keep my head above for a while longer…

But I pressed forward.

"I was never good enough for you, was I?" I let out a laugh.

"Excuse me?" Francis looked up, wanting me to clarify, his grey eyebrows pulling down over his pale eyes.

But I was in hysterias. I couldn't talk, I just laughed. I laughed. My body shook with laughter as all the pieces started to fit together. I felt tears streaming down my face while I just laughed and laughed and laughed.

"Deym," Francis stood up and bounced across the river, once again surprising me with his agility, "What did they do to you in there? Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

He looked like a new father stressing over nothing. An old father, but still a father—maybe a new grandfather. Which just added to my laughter.

"I'm fine!" I cried, bursting into another fit of laughter.

"I'm going to get someone—anyone to help. I know they did something to you. I just—" he started to turn, mumbling to himself.

My face turned from bliss to ice in seconds. I crushed his wrist in my grip, forcing him to stay right here. I could see my knuckles were white from the tight grip and his hand was slowly fading to a purple. But I didn't care.

"No. I'm fine." I spat through clenched teeth, "Sit. I need to talk to you."

Francis sighed and muttered something like 'I knew that child was bi polar, but this is insane.' I ignored it as he obeyed my orders anyway.

As he sat down, I stood up. I cleared my throat and began pacing. I wasn't sure how to start, so I just picked a random thought in my head and flung it out.

"All that talk about me hating you, well, I'm not saying that was a lie, but I'm also not saying it was true. 'I hate you' was kind of a… cover up. Because I didn't know what to think, I just blurted out the emotion closest to what I was feeling," I could feel myself smiling and adding a brightness to the conversation that was misplaced. The words scattering my mind were hard and fatal, but the way I said them made them happy and even comical. I was still in hysterias.

"You're not making sense," Francis interrupted.

I held up my index finger to my mouth, signaling him to stop talking and listen. I frowned, a quick frown, and then tried to put my brain back in place. This was all wrong. I wasn't supposed to be in a fit of laughter when I told him this. I was supposed to be firm and serious and hostile. Not laughing and smiling and acting like a complete idiot.

I focused on all the thoughts in my head for a good ten minutes straight. As the time passed, so did my hysteria. I could feel my face darkening and the smile wiped away. The pain my stomach once had from laughing turned into a churning of distain. My eyes hardened and my whole existence seemed to darken.

Francis noticed the changes. I could see him shaking slightly, but other than that he hid his fear of my state well.

Francis' mouth dropped open for a second, like he was going to say something.

"Shut up!" I sneered and his jaw snapped shut.

My anger was on a sturdy incline and it wasn't calming down soon. Just the sight of That Man made me want to scream. And now everything was put back the way it was a few weeks ago. I was back to referring to Francis as "That Man". Just thinking his name made my blood boil. I was about to explode and I wasn't sure who all I would kill in the process.

I forced my voice into a whisper, but the rage slipped out with every hiss, "Now, you will listen and you will grasp everything I say."

His eyes widened, he had never seen me like this before. He had never seen me truly mad. He had never seen me as much of anything. But I'll show him how wrong he was.

"I am so sick of you telling me what to do, how to do it, and when to do it. I'm tired of you prancing all over me and tricking me into doing things that I'll regret," I heaved out a laugh, but there was no humor behind it, "And to think I actually wanted you as a father!" I practically screamed, "What good would have ever come from that? What could have been different? I hate feeling like this. You sit there and tear me down so much, I can't stand it!" I felt my hands coil into fists, "I can't take it!"

He looked up to me with concern. Like he couldn't understand what I was saying.

"All this time I've been trying to be what you asked of me. And for what? Do you know? Cause I sure don't!" I didn't wait for him to answer, "I was branded, beaten, and I even killed myself once because I wanted you to think better of me. I wanted you to notice that I was the closest thing you would ever have to a family and I wanted you to think of me as your own son. I wanted you as a father because I no longer have one!" I heaved out, catching my breath and letting every word soak in, "I wanted you to be proud of me. YOU! I wanted the man that took my family away, tore them apart, to accept me. You, of all people, I waned you to be my father! Every single time you broke me down, I just wanted to try harder. Did you even notice? My leaps in training, my excel in fighting, it was all for you! Father! I want my father back! I want him back! I don't want you!" tears spilled over and my knees collapsed. I sent a swift hard punch onto the boulder I was collapsed on. My knuckles cracked and the rock opened a fresh wound, "Give him back to me!"

I felt That Man's eyes on me and saw him stand in my peripheral vision. I didn't move. My body tensed—a natural reaction.

"I can't bring your dad back, Deym," he spoke softly and then knelt by my side, "But, I think you should have this."

I looked in his direction and saw him reaching for his boot. He reached just inside the tongue of the boot and pulled out a short dagger that was protected in a blue sleeve. I eyed the dagger and my eyebrows pulled down in confusion. What did this little knife do? Did he really think I'd actually want to fight with that little thing?

"Look," he told me, gentle.

I looked harder at the blue sleeve the dagger was in. Scribbled on the side, were three words.

"To: My Nocturne"

Tears filled my eyes as I remembered the nickname from my childhood. The name my father called me. Nocturne.

"No, silly," my father had laughed, "Not a guitar this is a sitar."

"Oh," I awed, plucking one of the strings of the beautiful instrument, "But, Don't sitars usually have a real long, stubby neck? And then a short, puffy, rounded bottom?" this wasn't like the other sitars I'd seen in the music shops around our town.

"Oh, this one is special, my Nocturne. This one has a more… originality. But, either way, look," he pointed to the neck that curved, jutted out to points, then curved back, "It still has a long neck," then his pointed finger moved down to the base, "And it still has a stubby bottom, just a little more original touch is all."

"It's brown," I had noticed, running my finger along the base of the polished sitar Dad had made.

"What other color would you have it, my Nocturne?" he asked, curious.

I thought it over, "…Blue," I nodded approval at my own answer, "And maybe have it jut out into spikes at the very top where the tuners for the strings are."

Dad bellowed a laugh and scooped me into his arms, "What an imagination you have!" he seemed to be cheering, encouraging my creative mind, "Now, where do you propose I go and look for blue wood?"

I let out a laugh and shrugged, "Dad?" I asked, changing the subject, "What does Nocturne mean?"

"Hmm?" he hummed, as if he didn't understand the question.

"That's what you call me. 'Nocturne'. What's it mean?" I repeated.

"A nocturne is a type of piece of music and is usually played on the piano.. It's a composition that suggests a peaceful mood." He explained then sighed at a memory, "I remember the day I first started calling you that. I'd always play piano in my own modifications of a parent 'singing' their child to sleep. And every night I would ask you what you wanted me to play and you'd say 'Cho-pin! Cho-pin!'. Chopin has always been your favorite, hasn't it?" he asked the question but didn't pause for me to answer—he knew Chopin was my absolute favorite, "Though I've always been fond of Beethoven, you loved Chopin. And Chopin is famous for writing nocturnes. Your favorite piece by him is a Nocturne. And one night you mom said 'my, how Deym is turning out to be a musician!'. I just smiled and watched you tap your fingers—keeping rhythm at such a young age. That's when it hit me. You loved Nocturnes, and you were like my own Nocturne. My youngest son, happy and joyous—like a dreamy nocturne. And the name has stuck ever since."

I took the dagger with shaky hands. I wrapped both hands around the sleeve and cradled it in my arms—I wouldn't let it go. This blade, the one meant for me, was the exact same blade that had taken my father's life. I slowly took the blade out—only about an inch to peek—and I saw the rusty, dried blood still on the blade. I shuttered and shoved the dagger back into the sleeve. Cradling the dagger again, I stood up.

My eyes overflowed with tears as I looked up at That Man. He looked back at me with caution—as if he was awaiting a judgment.

Through all the years of hating him and looking up to him, I never thought he'd look like this. He was concerned and cautious—fragile. For the first time he looked like… a father.

Maybe not my father—no one could ever replace my father—but he could be a father-figure. Someone that I could look to. A man who would never come in first place, but could maybe pass off for second.

They always said 'never settle for second best'. But, did they ever consider that it was possible the best was unreachable? Not just too hard to reach, but altogether impossible to reach. First place was no longer an option. No longer a luxury my silver-metal life could afford.

Never settle for second best…

I will settle for second place. Though it's not quite as good as first, it still has value. Silver is a fine place to have and a place I'd be proud to be in.

My first place was gone, and second place can never ever feel as right as first place would feel. But when first place falls out of the race, doesn't that mean that second becomes first?

I held my first-place dagger to my chest and felt it press against the brand of second place I had tattooed into my chest. Scars I carried with me ran deeper than a tattoo. These things I would carry with my until the day I died. I felt the weight of first place in my hands and the tears swelled in my eyes. First place was gone. But at lease I was fortunate enough to have first place, even if it was only for a short time. And I know, because of what I had and what I have, I'll be okay.

Because when I looked up, second place was right there, waiting for me.

The tears spilled over and without a word, I collapsed into him. I buried my face in his shirt and threw my arms around my second-place father's waist. I cried helplessly as I embraced him for the first time. No, second place was not bad. Second place cared for me. Maybe not as much as first place did, but any concern at all showed me I was wanted. I felt his boney arms hug me back, stroking my hair the way a father would when rocking his child to sleep. He had never been a father—this I was sure—but if he had ever had a son, I knew this is what he'd be like. Protective and gentle. Soft and loving.

No, a second place father was never as good as gold…

But second place isnt so bad.


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