AN: This is just a story. I know four year-olds can talk normally, i have a four year old cousin. But i'm changing some stuff around, after all... its just a story right? I can alter things around, that's half the fun of writing... ne ways, i'm sorry if i offended you. but i just wanted the story to flow. If there is anything else i write in my story that is inaccurate, feel free to tell me. But keep in mind, this is just from my imagination.

Chapter 2

"Hey, freak! Get a rag and clean this mess up,will ya?" a sandy hair boy around 18 snarked as him and his group of friends began to snigger.

Chris Parker, who had been clearing a table, turned around to face the owner of the voice. Josh Davis. Chris bit back a groan. Today just wasn't his day.

Since he could remember, Chris had never had what others would call "a wealthy life". In fact, as a child he remembered his parents constantly struggling in between jobs just to get by.

Living in a "non-wealthy" neighborhood, let's just say the school system was never top notch. With the constant fights that broke out during classes, lack of money to gather books, and the drugs and alcohol that got passed around the school; there wasn't much time for actual learning to go on.

Not wanting Chris to get dragged down by his peers, Jamie had transferred Chris to one of the schools on the "nicer" side of town.

Who was he kidding? Everyone here was filthy rich. That meant he went to a school full of rich snobby kids who generally didn't accept the poor... meaning him.

Coming to school in shabby clothes, walking to school instead of riding in his own BMW, never having the money to go hang out... people generally avoided him... either that or picked on him.

Josh Davis was the icon of Bayside High. Rich, handsome, drove a BMW, and was captain of all sports teams imaginable. So when he declared Chris, "the freak"; everyone else followed.

In the beggining... things weren't that bad. A few name calling here and there, few shoves, some pranks, couple of rumors. Despite all of this, Chris was home free after he left school. No more rich snobs in his face. However after his mom died, his dad had sunken into depression. Meaning he could barely hold a job, few dollar bills were rolling in through the door, and the landlord was threatening to make them homeless. So Chris did what any good, desperate son would do. He got a job. Unfortunately, that meant he had to work as a dishwasher in one of the most popular cafes of Bayside; A.K.A, the rich snobs hang-out.

As Chris dragged his body over to the table, he grimaced at the large puddle of soda that lay in the middle of the table with over turned cups.

"Hey, the customer doesn't have all day!" Josh barked in his cocky voice as he elbowed his buddy in the ribs.

Biting his tongue, Chris picked up the cups and began wiping down the table as the others snickered in his expense.

"So, Parker. What does it feel like to be the bastard of a bum?"

Chris stopped wiping as he turned and stared at Josh with bubbling rage.

"My dad isn't a bum," he replied quietly as he returned to wiping away the sticky mess.

"Just a loser who can't keep his own job," another boy sneered with a smile.

He felt his whole body freeze as he fought back the urge to jump him and strangle the guy with his bare hands.

"He has a job," he weakly answered. The only thing keeping him back was his mom's voice, "Don't sink down to their level... you're better than that, Chris."

Josh began to laugh, "So is that what your old man is telling you? Funny, I distinctly remember my dad coming home last week babbling about how he fired your dad's ass for coming in drunk. For the fourth time."

Chris couldn't take it, "accidently" letting his elbow hit the cup of ice tea, he sent the drink tumbling over into Josh's lap.

As Josh leapt to his feet with a yelp, Chris sarcastically remarked, "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! Looks like your pants are all ruined. But don't worry, I'm sure you're daddy will buy you a fresh new pair."

Looking down at his soaking pants and back up at Chris, Josh jumped over the booth and grabbed Chris roughly around the collar, "You son of a bitch, I'll freakin' kick your scrawny ass!"

Just as he was about to throw the first hit, the manager came bumbling in, "What the hell is going on!"

Shoving Chris back into the wall, Josh through an accusing finger towards him, "That son of a bitch was harrassing me!"

Chris, who was rubbing at the sore spot in the back of his head tried to keep from rolling his eyes. 'Today just isn't my day...'

"Hey, Ry. You ready to go?"

"I don't see why i can't stay home alone. I promise I won't sneak out."

Wyatt had to snort as he leaned against the door frame leading to his little brother's room, "Uh-huh."

Shaking his head, Ryan went back to flipping through the album while ignoring his brother's light teasing.

"Whatcha looking at?" Wyatt questioned.

"I don't think you'd be interested."

Pushing himself away from the door, Wyatt slowly took a seat next to his brother on the floor, "Why wouldn't I be interested looking through our family's photo album?"

"You don't seem to show interest when it comes to our little brother."

Wyatt bit back a groan as he restrained himself from saying something he would regret, "What's going on with you lately? It seems like you want to fight everyday. Why are you bringing him up every time I try to talk with you?"

Ryan refused to take his eyes off the photo and didn't reply.

"Look, if you're gonna be stubborn about it, be that way. But you know it's not like that. We all think about him. So don't act like you're the only one who cares."

"Do you remember this picture?" Ryan quietly asked as he pointed to a photo.

Wyatt leaned over and stared. It was the last picture the the three brothers had taken together. A four year old Chris was in Wyatt's lap with a large smile plastered on his face while Ryan was hugging Wyatt from behind.

"Yeah," Wyatt smiled, "I remember."

"It was taken right before it happened. That was 10 years ago today..."

Wyatt looked up, his smile vanished from his face leaving behind a grimace, "So you remembered too?"

"Wait, you knew what today was? And you didn't say anything!"

"I didn't want to upset mom or dad. You know how they get. Ryan, I know this time of year gets hard... i feel it too! But you have to let it go, its been ten years."

Ryan shook his head and mumbled, "You just don't get it..."

Wyatt sighed, "Let's just go before mom has a heart attack."

"Why do I have to go? All you and mom let me do is sit in her office."

Rising from his seat on the floor, Wyatt smoothed out his clothes while extending his hand for his little brother to grasp, "Because we love you, and we want to keep you safe... besides, you're underage. You're not allowed to be running around the club."

Rolling his eyes, Ryan grasped his brother's hand, "Big brother's are a pain in the-"

After a couple of extra hours of work thanks to Mr. Hanes and Josh who had been threatening to call his dad, Chris was sorely limping back from hours of standing.

Pulling his hat over his ears, Chris continued to walk beneath the star filled sky. He could never go anywhere without his hat. It was a plain grey hat, hand knitted with the letters CP on the side, yet it held so mcuh significance to him. Many kids at school teased him about it, but he didn't care. He refused to be without his hat.

The night was beautiful, not a cloud in the sky. The stars shone brighter than ever as they watched over Chris. Through the night's chill, he could see his own breath as the frost rose up into the darkness and was carried away by the wind.

Chris smiled as he could just imagine his mother chastising him now, "Are you out of you're mind! It's cold enough to freeze hell over and you're out here prancing around in practically nothing! Now hurry you're little butt home so I can make you some hot chocolate. And thats NOT a reward. That's just so you don't get hypothermia..."

Thinking of his mother watching over him from above, Chris zipped up his thin jacket and burried his hands deep into his pockets, 'Happy mom?'

Smiling at his moment of happiness, he was thrown back into reality when he reached the broken down chained gate that lead to his home. The familiar run-down red truck was parked on the driveway.

Gulping, he made his way to the front door where he stalled by looking for his set of keys. Finally finding them, he fit the key in place while giving the door a slight shove.

Peering around the corner, he nearly closed his eyes and turned around right there on the spot. He found empty beer cans strewn across the stained floor. As he shut the door behind him, he felt his stomach churn is anxiety and pain. He didn't want to go through this tonight, of all nights... it had to be today.

"What the hell took you so long!" an angry voice was heard snapping Chris from his thoughts. He whirled around in time to see Nick stumbling through from his bedroom door.

Dropping his bookbag to the floor, Chris began to fidget with his hands as his gaze fell the floor, "I- uh had to work some extra hours today..."

Nick snorted and slurred, "Did you atleast bring in some cash?"

Looking up, he could feel the tension rise in the air as he knew what was gonna happen, "Dad-"

Chris's head flew to the left as he was back handed across the cheek, "What the fuck did i tell you! Don't you ever call me dad! It's sir to you!"

Resisting the urge to rub his cheek, Chris once again resumed his position where he bowed his head and bit back the tears, "Sir, I don't get my paycheck till friday..."

This time a fist flew through the air as it hit its mark causing Chris to stumble to the floor, "You better not be hiding money from me!"

Biting back a groan Chris didn't even try to hide his tears anymore. He knew how much his dad hated it when he cried, how all the hits would only come harder... but today, he didn't have the strength to care. He did't want to get back up... so he just curled up into a fetal position and let the tears come.

"Get up!"

Chris didn't move, he didn't want to get back up... it was pointless really. By the end of the night, he would still be back here, on the ground sporting a bruised face and sore ribs.

The first kick came hard against his middle causing him to cringe, but he didn't cry out.

The second one hit his chin, but merely a whimper escaped his lips.

The hits came, but not once did Chris ever beg him to stop. He never did. If this was what his dad needed to ease the pain that bit inside him, Chris would take it... Because he was familiar with that pain. Guilt, anger, being lonely... he felt it everyday. If only someone would ease his pain.

As a rough jab into the back of his spine hit him, Chris wrenched his eyes closed as he bit back the scream. At this point, Chris couldn't tell if it was blood or tears that soaked his hair and covered his face.

A rough hand grabbed his hair and gave a yank upwards forcing Chris to follow, using his last strength to keep from tumbling over. He followed into the kitchen where he was thrown into a counter emmitting a stinging pain from his right arm and a loud clang from the pots within.

"Make yourself useful for once," the voice snarled as the stumbling footsteps lead away into the living room where the sound of the T.V carried.

Nursing his sore right arm, Chris struggled to breath as he sat crouched behind the counters trying not to cry. He closed his eyes and wished the pain away... this was for his mom...

"I don't fuckin' hear you workin'!"

As he wiped away the last tear with his left arm, Chris stuggled to his feet and slowly began to pull out a pan. This was life. No sugar coating, no lies about how everything would be wonderful, no protective bubble. This was reality. Chris new he would be hit by it one day. But he never expected it to come so early in his life... and he never expected it to be this hard... he never dreamed he would deal with it alone.

Sometimes, he wondered why he was still here, breathing. Facing the humiliation caused by his peers. Looked down upon by everyone he ever met. Feeling the pressure of loneliness at all four walls. Why did he even bother to be here? Working all day to come home to a flying fist? He could end it... with one swipe of a blade. But he didn't. Because of a promise that he swore he would never break.

Swiping away at another stray tear, he slowly whispered

"Happy Birthday, Chris..."

Who knew living could be this hard?

TBC...

Comments on how i can improve? I know this wasn't my BEST chapter... ne way i can make things better?