Eh, Roxas centered fic. Lalala :D
Disclaimer: I don't believe you haven't read the first part of this.
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Crimson liquid, exactly like his mother's, oozed out of the finely craved gash.
The fruit knife near the soap dish glistened, despite the splotches of blood which soiled it.
A grin formed on his pretty features, barely plump cheeks taut.
He descended lower into the rose - scented bathwater, his sapphire eyes not flinching from the rush of water into them.
He felt happy.
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His white crisp shirt was partly covered by the black tuxedo, black tie loose around the slender neck. Everyone who came passed by him, everyone who came stopped by him, spewing synthetic words of consolation and condolence. Words he didn't really need or care about. Still, he knew his manners, flashing smiles like a pre-programmed industrial machine, masking his apathy towards everything.
The noise, the sounds all seemed so surreal to him.
And the Neighbour was acting like the host, shedding tears like a tap and blowing his nose on a polka-dotted handkerchief, instead of him. Go figure. He turned his head towards the framed picture of his mother.
Beautiful as ever, just like the day she died, just like the day he dressed her up.
The gin was within reach, a glass right next to it. His fingers closed upon contact with the glass and the other hand, with its long fingers stretched out for the glass bottle. He poured out a glassful and situated himself in a dark corner on a chair, near where he could see his mother's face.
He swallowed down a mouthful.
It was typical teenage behaviour to him.
Typical teenage behaviour to drink alcohol when something happens, to rid all the emotions that come with them.
Even to rid apathy.
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He was at the third glass of gin. He still couldn't get drunk.
He still couldn't replace the apathy with alcohol.
Probably too many drinking sessions with his mother, he thought.
He remembered.
His mother lugging home packs of beer in huge bags, banging them on the table, him pouring the nuts into a bowl, him removing the beer cans from the packs.
He remembered.
Him hearing, looking at his mother cry and wail, her drinking till the bitter brew dribbled out of those cherry-shaded lips, her drinking till her head hit the dining table hard, him drinking the leftover cans of beer and discarding them away.
He remembered it all.
He thought he was being a filial, good son.
For the sake of repaying the one who brought him up with what every mother wanted.
Even if he hated her.
He toyed with the now empty glass, twisting it in his palm and tossing it in the air, despite the cries of a few fashionably-dressed old ladies. He decided to pour himself another glass.
And another. And another. Till he could not feel the way he could not feel now.
Another, another, another.
Another.
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The gin pouring down his throat had halted, the source of alcohol, the mug had been snatched away from him. He slumped further into the chair, which was difficult to achieve.
A slender hand thrust him a pack of breath mints.
"Boy, you smell rather bad." The feminine, joking voice rang in his ears. He covered them tightly.
From the darkness, he heard a faint chuckle and a pair of something - something warm - making contact with his hands. He felt his hands gently removed from their position by the warm objects, barely audible sound becoming audible.
He realised they were hands. Hands which belonged to the feminine voice.
She had kept her hands on his, grinning at him. A warm, pleasant grin.
He looked at the mess of hands. It was the first time someone else touched him besides his mother.
It was his first contact with the outside world since eight years old.
"You shouldn't be drinking that during your mom's wake! Go talk to your friends instead of sitting here like a stone, yes?"
He glanced at her. Go talk to his friends. Talk. Friends. He didn't really understand those words till she said them.
"I am."
She was his first friend.
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Ehehehe, I'm tired. I've already thought of how to end this. A sad ending, for once. Please review and give constructive criticism cause I think I need it :D And to readers of Pretty Face, I can't update it cause my computer's down. I'm using my bro's computer. Psssh.