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Raphael Pov

There's a pile of pillows situated beneath my head, and a roof of blankets hanging over me. Mona lays beside me, staring upward, not touching me. We're indulged in the silence, finding each other's company to be comforting enough without conversation. Even if we did make some, it'd be forced, and there's no point in running the moment.

I reach over, grabbing Mona's hand. She squeezes my fingers between her own, and we both turn our heads to meet each other's gaze. Her eyes, blue as ice, looking purer than the ocean. I'm swimming, suddenly, the smell of salt overwhelming me. Her love is all I feel, it radiates off of her body like the sun's rays, filling me with warmth.

"I love you," Mona whispers, her voice rippling through the fort we've crafted in the guest room.

Smirking, I stretch my arms out towards her and pull her over. She climbs onto me, sitting on my hips with her legs bent at my sides. With her straddling me, I place my hands on either side of her waist, holding onto her for dear life. She lifts up her hand and tucks a loose strand of dirty blonde hair behind her ear.

I smile at her, my lips in a full out grin. Her hands move back and forth against my chest, massaging my bare skin. She's wearing a grey tank top, one that shows off her curves. The top of her purple bra is showing over her shirt, and her striped, blue shorts have shifted upward, showing off more of her thighs.

"You don't know how much I missed you," Mona murmurs, a heavy sigh following her blissful words.

"And you don't know how amazing it felt to have your face be the first thing I saw when I awoke." Mona gives me a small, half smile, leaning down to press her lips to mine. I return the kiss, grateful to have a girlfriend so willing to offer such a kind gesture not because she feels she has to, but because she loves me enough to.

Mona falls asleep with her head on my chest, and I rub her back, focusing only on the shallow pace of her slumbering breaths.

My eyes flutter open, meeting Mona's instantly. I smile gently, lifting up my arm to wrap around her waist. She caresses a steaming mug of coffee, and offers it to me. I sit up, taking it gratefully, and bring the glass to my lips. The beverage slides down throat, warming my insides. Feeling lighter than air, I hand the mug back to Mona, who takes a sip of her own.

"How'd ya sleep?"

"Pretty well." I'm careful not to send the blankets hanging over me into collapse as I stretch my arms.

"Did you ever hear Leo come home last night?" The question strikes me as odd, and when I lift my gaze away from the floor, I notice that Mona is biting her lower lip, worry spread across her face.

I hesitate to respond, recalling every event from last night. Donnie and Mikey came home a quarter to eleven, but Leo wasn't with them. I recall Donnie sending me a text shortly after me and Mona got home, telling me to leave the door unlocked because Leonardo was walking home and didn't have a set of keys on him. But, he never did come home.

I frown, worry filling all of my senses, making it so I'm not quite sure how to react.

"Donatello and Michelangelo are downstairs eating breakfast," Mona begins to explain, "and they said they never heard Leo come home, and his room is empty. They're scared, Raph, I don't think I've ever seen either them so distressed."

I heave a sigh and bite my lip. Mona's right, within the past year, everything has seemingly been alright. Well, still pretty shitty, but not as bad as the year before. Still, my little brothers are never so low, except for when it comes to missing family members.

Crawling over to the "door" of our fort, I exit the blanket house, Mona following close behind. We cross the hall to my bedroom, where I grab a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I change my outfit completely, not minding Mona's watchful eyes as I strip and reclothe myself. She's patient, still waiting for a response from our earlier conversation.

I turn to look at her over my shoulder. Her hair is perfectly straight, and eyeliner has created dark circles around her eyes, mascara darkening her eyelashes. She doesn't wear lipstick, or blush, she's never liked it. Maybe it's because I'm constantly reminding her that she's gorgeous without all that powder on her face, that masks her true beauty. She doesn't wear eyeshadow because of my constant conviction, but no words I muster will ever make her truly believe me, she's far too insecure about herself.

Reaching into my closet, I take out a Harley Davidson hoodie and toss it her way. She takes a long whiff of it, inhaling my signature scent, before slipping the jacket on over her crop top. Mona loves wearing my clothes, she always takes home a hoodie every time she comes over. I don't mind it, because by the time I get it back, it smells like her.

"We're brothers," I start, venturing back to our unfinished conversation, "we've always cared for each other, it's just what we do. When one of us goes missing, the others panic."

"You're lucky, you know."

I sit down on the edge of my bed, putting on my socks. "And why is that?"

Mona walks forward, sitting on my right leg. She wraps her arm around my neck, staring deeply into my eyes, a smile spreading across her lips. "Because you have such an amazing family, and everyone looks out for each other."

I snort. "Right, because eight people under one roof is considered lucky," I say, rolling my eyes.

"I'm serious. You all love each other so much, and it's clear that you'd all rather die than turn on each other. That's what I think of as a perfect family," Mona reaches one of her hands up to caress my cheek. I lean into her touch. "I want us to have a perfect family together, Raph."

This strikes me as odd, because we've never really talked about our future together. Of course, we both knew that we'd eventually marry and have a kid or two, but it's not like we've ever sat down and had a conversation about it. After all, we're only 17.

"Where's this coming from, Mona?" I ask warily, rubbing my hand against her upper thigh.

Mona's gaze strays away from my face, and over to the window. She stares off into the city, her eyes tracing the skyline. She's biting the inside of her cheek, just as she always does when she's nervous about something. I hate it when she hesitates to tell me something, I want us to always be open and honest with each other. I take her hand in mine, squeezing tightly. Leaning forward, I kiss her cheek lightly.

She looks back at me, her eyes staring deeply into mine. A smile braces itself across her lips, brightening her expression. "I don't know, I've just been thinking about it a lot. I mean, we are about to start our finale year of high school, and then we'll be off to college. Don't you think we should start making plans?"

"No. No, I don't. I think we should plan to go to the same college and move along to bigger things when we're ready."

Mona heaves a sigh, getting up off my lap. She paces around the room with her arms folded across her chest. Frustration is spelt plainly across her face. "I'm not sure you understand how important this all is to me. I want us to get married, and have kids that'll grow up in a nice apartment with parents with well-paying jobs. We can't just have that without preparing, you know? We have to work towards it."

"But we're seventeent!" I exclaim while jumping to my feet. I throw my hands in the air, eyes wide with exasperation. "We don't have to prepare for everything, Mona. As long as we know what we want, we'll get it; I can promise you that much."

Mona leans against the wall, her head back, eyes closed. I walk over to her, all stress leaving me. I press a kiss to her neck, placing a hand on either of her hips. "Seventeen years ago, my dad arrived in this small, crowded city of Manhattan with next to nothing; no plan, no family, no job, no home. He was lost and didn't have a clue as to what he should do next with his life. One day, he happened upon a pet store, and wandered in out of curiosity." As I speak into Mona's ear, her hair brushing against my cheek, she doesn't touch me, she only listens to my words, waiting for me to reach a point of ending. "He purchased four baby turtles, four little reptiles that were destined for so much greater. Not to save the world from alien invasions, or to stop an evil, revenge-craved man, but instead to be his children. Seventeen years ago, my father had no idea what he should do next, and by mere chance, he adopted four amazing sons, who would one day, be the code of his world. He didn't have a plan, he just lived."

Ice blue eyes meet mine once more, this time looking empty. I can't read any emotion in them, although I know well enough that a reply is on the rise. If only she could muster up the words to speak.

Mona Pov

The second I walk through the front door the thick, weight-like feeling of absence comes settling down upon me. I glance down at myself, as if to make sure I'm all here.

I feel like this every time me and Raphael depart, and considering he just dropped me off at home on his way to the hospital to pick up his family, I shouldn't be surprised. Me and Raph are practically the same person, too alike for our own good.

Perhaps the reason I'm shocked at this oddly usual feeling is because we departed at loose ends, an argument fresh in the air around us. I was pretty pissed off with him when he dropped me off in the parking lot outside my apart complex, refusing to let him walk me in, despite his insists. When I walked away from his car, he ran his fingers through his luscious hair, a mixture of annoyance, frustration, confusion, and grief painted across his face. I didn't care though, and I still don't.

He doesn't understand how much planning our future out means to me. All my life, I've planned every little detail out. What year I would start dance class, what year I'd quit, what song id do for next years talent show, what color my glasses would be if I ever got them. What college I was going to, what color and style my wedding dress would be, the names of my children, how old I would be when I get married.

My plan was to start dating in college, and get married two years after. But then I met Raphael, and that all changed. We started dating two years before I'd planned, had sex two months into our relationship when I'd planned for four months. We went on vacation together after not even a year, I met his family two days after our relationship officially began. He's speeding through the schedule, and the worst part may be that I'm letting him.

Still, it annoys me how he thinks he can just walk into my life and disrupt every thing. Or maybe it doesn't annoy me. I don't see myself stopping him, or trying to plan things with him. Until today, of course, and that turned out badly. He expects me to wed him and have kids with him "when we're ready, not when the planner says to." Is it wrong for me to want to scream at him for saying that? It seems perfectly rational to me.

I don't though, because I love him, and I trust him. Raphael would never put me in harms way. He's gone out of his way on so many occasions to help me or to make spare time to spend with me, therefore, maybe I shouldn't be so picky about this.

Satisfied, I smile, and skip the rest of the way to my room.

My mom follows me in, sitting on the edge of my bed as I unload my perfumes and makeup and place them back in their designated spots on my dresser. "Who's sweatshirt?" I can feel my mom's brown eyes following me around the room, her lighthearted stare warming my body.

"Raph's," I confess, my grin stretching from ear to ear. I love him, I really do, and it seems as if earlier's disagreement has already been forgotten. At least, on my behalf, it has been.

I plop down on my bed, laying my head on my mom's lap. She draws my hair back, stroking it gently, smiling down at me. "You two are perfect for each other," she states boldly. This is what I love about my mother, her ability to say something great during times of distress.

"You really think so?" My eyes are wide, begging for the answer to this simple yet challenging question.

What even does perfect mean? Most people would say that it's two puzzle pieces fitting together, or magnets attracting one another. Most people think the definition of someone being perfect for you is if the two of you get along well with each other and having similar personalities. For some reason, other souls believe that being perfect for someone is being deeply in love with them, but I don't think so at all.

To me, if someone is really meant for you, they'll stick with you through thick and think, never dropping your hand, even when you ask them to. When the sun sets and the skies get dark, they'll wrap their arms around you, holding you tight against them, like a chrysalis around a butterfly. They'll hold onto you, even when the light comes seeping in between the cracks of the darkness, even when everything is better. If someone cares for you enough to be perfect for you, they won't care how you look or how you act, they'll just want you, held tightly in their arms as they drift into a blissful sleep. They'll protect you with their life.

I never believed in soulmate's, or even in love, while growing up. Not until I met Raph.

It wasn't love at first sight, and I wasn't falling for him after the first kiss. That all came months later, when he would hold my hand as we strolled through the city. Our fingers laced together easily, it was as if we'd practiced a million times. By now, we have, but back then, it was mere chance.

The instant that I knew that I was in love with him was late one night, when he wrapped his arms around me during a thunder storm. I've never liked the roars of pouring rain, let alone the screams of lightening meeting the ground. Raphael didn't make fun of me like anyone else would've, instead his arms tangled around my torso, and he held me against him for hours and hours, rubbing my back as I slept.

Most people say that being perfect for someone is fitting together like a puzzle, but I don't think that. To me, it's seeing someone's flaws, knowing their cons, and still caring for them. Being perfect for someone means that you'll risk everything to be with them, and not the threat of death itself will draw you apart.

"Yes," my mom replies, "I really do think so."

Two Weeks Later

Leonardo Pov

There's a pile of broken bottles in the kitchen, it's sticky atmosphere unbearable. I scrunch my nose as I walk past it, disgusted by the shattered glass that reeks of alcohol. It isn't the nicest smell in the world, especially not when it mingles with the stench of dust and mold. This home is abandoned, no one can save it anymore.

It's too early to be drinking, having being only 2:30 in the afternoon, but I've already started and there's no going back now. I approach the fridge, pulling out my second can of miller light. I shouldn't be here, much less with alcohol stashed in the otherwise empty fridge. Unfortunately, up for rent or not, this is the only place I can ever think of going, because my daughter died here and I know that when Karai goes she'll linger here as well. A few months ago I didn't believe I'm spirits, but I've begun to open my eyes to the possibility of it. Maybe I'm just believing what I want to, though. Perhaps this is just my mind playing tricks on me, in an attempt to reassure me of what's about to go down tomorrow afternoon.

It's been over a month since Karai entered her coma, caused by the inhale of too many toxins. Hospitalized, nurses have watched over her unconscious form since her arrival. Just last week, her assigned Doctor approached me with dire news. If she wasn't to wake up within seven days, they'd be forced to pull her plug.

Pull her plug.

They were going to kill her.

Her, Karai, my Fiancé, the love of my life, the only person I'd ever want to bare my children. Tomorrow is the day they have it scheduled. Tomorrow she is going to take a breath, and then another, and the third will never come. Lost in the air around us, a scene that'll be glued to our minds for an eternity.

I pop my beer open, taking a swig that empties over half the bottle. I haven't been sober since the doctor informed me of the procedure that would be taking place. It's too much for me to handle. The thought of her not being her with me every day is enough to set me off my rocker.

My family has seen it; in the way I bark at anyone who pisses me off, in the extra time I spend in my car every night upon coming home, in that emotionless stare I give the wall when I zone off into another place. They're worried for me, I can sense it. But I won't take their help, I don't need them to get me through this. I'm Leonardo Hamato, a death isn't going to stop me from staying strong.

A tear slips down my face, and that's how I know that a couple miller light's isn't going to be nearly enough to intoxicate me to the point of numbness. I need something stronger.

I reach up high, into the top cabinet. My hand retracts, a tall bottle of vodka clasped tightly between my fingers.

It doesn't take long to empty it, and when it's gone, every last drop, I reach for another. Then one more.

By the forth canteen, I'm sunk to the floor, my back against the pantry door. My thoughts are empty, as bland as my soul. I can't think clearly, can't see a thing past my spinning eyes. My head aches from the overdose of alcohol, but I don't mind the pain. At least it's physical this time.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, alerting me of a text. I pull it out, glaring at the contact. Raphael. He sends three more texts, then calls me twice. I ignore his calls and messages, too caught up in my vile thoughts to reply.

When the fifth call comes through, I chuck my phone at the wall, relief washing over me as the glass shatters against the drywall.

Finally, in free of his pestering.

Tonight, I'll free myself of my family's concerned stares.

Tomorrow afternoon Karai will be free of this world.

Tomorrow night, I'll make the jump that'll reunite me with Karai and my daughter.