Author's Note: Bah, I update so quickly...all the ideas just running through my brain are just irresistible! ) Anyways, onwards. Right now, I'm waiting for Check On It to turn the hell off, because it's throwing off my groove...yes, I have a groove. A fragile one at that. P And note that only the italics go in order.

Disclaimer: Square Enix owns all Kingdom Hearts related items. If I own something, trust me, you'll know. It'll be something like THE COVETED (insert lame title here) © mazarine 1991-2006.

Rating Warning: This story contains many types of abuse: alcohol, physical, mental, etc. No, there's nothing too explicit, but there is implied sexual conduct. You have been warned.

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Relique Argentée

(Silver Relic)

Chapter II

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I must contradict myself. My largest want right now is not to get away from being myself, but to simply stop being. Yes, most may point out that I am already nonexistent, but that is far from the point. I simply want to disappear. Staring at myself every morning in the mirror as I carefully ready myself to face the world is truly hell. I'm beginning to see what my father saw: a cowardly, sniffling brat. If I were my son, I too would be ashamed. For awhile, I have been wondering: what comes after I finally cease to exist in every way? Will I simply start over? Will I never be heard of again? Will these thoughts stop? Will I finally end? Will I feel again? Will I be forgotten? WIll it matter? It is hard to think of one not thinking, not breathing, not seeing or smelling or tasting or hearing. It is hard to think of one not existing, even when they do not exist to begin with. It is hard, yet appealing. How I would love to be gone! Or would I? Maybe I'm being too bleak...too "emo" as Axel says. Perhaps I should wait it out and see if a heart comes as the prize for this suffering. Even that thought produces what should be depressing theories. If I do get a heart, I'll just be rewarded with that depression that comes with being Ienzo. I was never a happy boy. On the day of my 'death,' I had not smiled for years and...that last smile...I do not want to remember it. I do not want to remember anything. I just want to cease these thoughts, I just want to...

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Summer never was his season. He hated the heat and the sun and the happiness and the fact that there was no school, the latter of the list meaning he was stuck at home all day, quietly scheming a rather violent rebellion that could result in nothing good. Right now, he was sitting with his legs propped up on his desk, foot bobbing to the beat of the music that was being blasted into his ears via a pair of black earbuds. Strands of windswept black hair covered grey eyes that were lazily staring out of the window and into the heat of summer. Next door, a girl was tanning while her friend swam. Words were shared between the two, but he couldn't hear them due to the fact his window was very thick and bolted shut. When footsteps sounded in the hall, his eyes flickered over to his door, which was locked from the outside. With a haughty sigh, a teenaged Ienzo pushed away from the wall, sending his chair rolling towards the door. He hopped out of the chair as soon as he could and reached out so as to stop it. The earbuds were deftly dislodged and discarded onto a black clad bed along with a black MP3 player. Any minute now...

"Lunch," snapped a gruff voice. The sound of a lock opening rang through the air, followed by the opening of the door. Icy grey met heated near-black in a mutual show of hatred before Ienzo pushed past his father and gingerly made his way down the steps. The gruff voice called out behind him. "Ain't you gonna say anything?"

With that, Ienzo stopped and turned, desperately wanting to correct his father's grammar, but knowing that it would result in one more bruise on his cheek. The last time he had looked in a mirror, his entire left cheek had been black and blue and there had been an aging ring of yellow around his eye. He had no idea what he looked like now. "What's for lunch?" he asked flatly, trying to keep any emotion out of his voice.

Satisfied with that, the man pushed past his son. "Chips and sandwiches. You see those girls next door?" he replied, adding a question so as to force Ienzo to speak.

"Yes sir," Ienzo replied, voice just as flat as before.

"D'you know em from school?"

"No sir."

"Why not? Boy, you need some friends."

Ienzo wasn't sure how to reply to this without getting hit and he knew that his father was aware of this. "I've never seen them before," he replied tactfully. His father's expression became disappointed.

"I see. Be a good boy and I'll let you go over."

By now, they were sitting down and a plate of food was being shoved in front of Ienzo. Despite his painful hunger (he hadn't eaten in two days), he ate slowly, determined not to let his father know that he was getting to him. Sure, the chips were a bit stale and the cheese had a funny taste to it, but hell, it was food!

"Okay."

His flat tone never changed, his stony expression never faltered. The only conductors of emotion on his face were his eyes, which burned with an untamable hatred directed to his father.

"You done?" his father demanded. Not waiting for an answer, Ienzo's half full plate was deftly removed from his grasp.

"If I wasn't?" he asked carefully, fear licking at his insides.

"Too bad. Back up to your room."

With the smallest of sighs, Ienzo stood and walked slowly up to his room, looking around for anything that would make life up there more interesting. He had read every book in his bookshelf at least four times (save the dictionaries, which he hadn't read at all) and had counted the pieces of wood in his floor at least ten times, coming up with a different number the first six times, then finally getting it right over and over. As he walked, he passed a mirror and stopped to look at himself.

Dead. That is the word that he thought best described him. He was thin: his black basketball shorts threatened to slip right off his hips and his muscle shirt (which was a small) wasn't even tight enough to show any muscles. He wasn't skin and bones...no...his father wouldn't let him get that skinny...but he wasn't very muscular either. His eyes weren't sunken in, but his cheek bones were very defined and any sign of baby fat was swept away. Two dull grey eyes were mostly hidden by wisps of longish windswept black hair that stuck up a bit in the back. Now, his skin was very pale, yes, but one could hardly notice due to the sheer amount of bruises located on his form. Most were hidden by his long-sleeved shirt, but the shorts failed to hide the large black mass on his right thigh and the smaller aging bruise below his left knee. He still had his bruised cheek, but his eye was basically normal now.

"Come on, boy, move it!" hissed his father, pushing Ienzo harshly into his room. "If you want to meet those girls, you'll have to get a better look." The words were cruel and made it obvious that Ienzo would inever/i meet 'those girls.' He stumbled forward, wincing when the door was slammed. After a moment, he walked over to his window and leaned his forehead against it, staring into the outside world, wondering what would happen if he could be courageous and break free. For a moment, he failed to notice the perplexed look the girl tanning was giving him. When he did notice it, he scurried away from the window, tripping over his desk chair and crashing into his side table. He caught a picture and a lamp before they could shatter and sat them back on the now crooked table. He went to move away, but stopped, his vision claimed by the photo sitting behind the newly cracked glass in his frame. A slim, scarred hand reached out and gingerly picked it up, bringing it close to his narrowed eyes. Pushing away the broken glass, he slipped the photo out of the frame and sat the now empty object down. His frown became one of quiet desperation and mourning as he gazed upon the photo, blinking profusely so as to run off any tears that might decide to surface. He fought to remember the woman in the photo, her face or eyes or smile or laugh, but couldn't.

The photo was of a young woman seated in a porch chair with her child. She was frozen in movement: her hand was reaching up to move a piece of black hair out of her eyes as her entire being was moving from looking at her child to the photographer. Two electric blue eyes were located under thin strands of hair, drawing any viewer instantly to them. Right now, the viewer was Ienzo, who flipped the photo over right when his eyes locked with the woman's. There was smudged writing on the back.

Addy and Ienzo, May–

And then it became unreadable, which didn't matter because Ienzo wasn't reading anyways. In fact, the picture had been dropped and he was now lying face down on his bed, fists clenched around clumps of the black bedspread.

"I just want to die."

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Author's Note: Bah, short again. Oh well. I adore reviews, you guys, so...yeah :-)