First Movement – The Beginning is the End is the Beginning

Present day…

I can feel my heartbeat. It's dull and lifeless, not like my dad's heart. Like it lost its life.

My heart is dying…

"Nia?"

I opened my eyes. "Hm?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." I always felt uncomfortable when at the doctor's office. It doesn't matter if they're the same gender or not; it always feels like they're looking at you through a microscope.

He nodded and turned to the man next to him. "Everything looks fine, Mr. Hawthorne."

Dad looked at my doctor with a questioning look. "When my daughter stopped growing and aging four years ago, I thought something completely different," my father said through clenched teeth. "But every year, you say the same thing. This is not fine! I can't even take her to public school because everyone treats her like a freak!"

"But I am a freak," I said softly.

He put a hand on my head. "Not now, Nia." Then he returned to complaining to the doctor. "Her breasts are still budding!"

I groaned and hid my face behind my hands. Not my fault my body decided to hit puberty late.

Dr. Hicks tried his best to stay calm although I knew he was freaking out on the inside. "Look, there are no health problems. She's as healthy as a normal…" He took another look at me. "Thirteen-year-old girl. Maybe fourteen."

"I'm supposed to be seventeen," I corrected.

"Not now, Nia!" the two of them said together.

"What about her voice? Most of the time, she can't talk above a whisper," Dad said.

"It's just a precaution," I told him. "You know what happened the last time I yelled."

"That was just a coincidence. That glass was old." His voice was stern, but he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

"No, it was brand new and…" I closed my mouth as soon as my voice started to get louder.

His fists clenched. "There is nothing wrong with you."

"Stop contradicting yourself!" I yelled.

My father held his head and hissed in pain. Dr. Hicks shot a look to his glass cotton ball container, which now contained a few cracks. I bit my lip and winced as a burning rose in my throat.

It had happened again. Whenever I did something as simple as raise my voice to someone, it physically caused both of us pain. Then I would be unable to talk effectively for a while. Sometimes it only affected that person, but my voice has a way of being unfocused. Like my general feeling of bitterness at the world. It was the reason my dad jumped at the first chance of getting a plasma screen. And plastic cups.

I kept quiet until the doctor's visit was over and we were in the car. My fingers ran over the tattoo around my neck. It had not done its job; my body was still going through weird changes. At least I wasn't on the verge of killing anyone yet. "What's the point?" I asked quietly.

Dad broke out of his stupor. "What do you mean?"

"I have never needed a doctor. I've never gotten sick, not even from chicken pox. All kids at least have chicken pox!" My voice kept low but harsh. "I even spent a week with my dotted cousin, just to test myself. Nothing!"

"We just need to make sure nothing else goes wrong."

"Then we're getting the wrong thing examined. Maybe you should just ship me to the nuthouse right now."

There was a screech as Dad suddenly slammed on the brakes. I lurched forward in my seat. "Get out," he commanded.

There was no arguing. I got out of the car and let him drive off without me. Dad never wanted to remember that day. Every time it seemed like a conversation was going towards there, he would make me leave the table, room, house, car, or whatever. As far as he was concerned, Mom didn't even exist. The only evidence she was ever around was the gold chain that hung around my neck.

The snow crunched under my sneakers as I shifted around. Funny. In the middle of September and there was snow on the ground. It was typical when one lived in Winter Town, when it was snowy winter most of the year, except for a two-month long thaw.

"What will I do today?" I asked myself out loud. I was home schooled so there was no rush to classes. Dad was driving to work. The first thing that came to mind was getting breakfast, and I just a couple blocks away from a good diner.

I finally got out of the middle of the street when a car slowed down and the driver honked its horn. The driver, a middle-aged man, rolled down the window. He opened his mouth wide, most likely to curse me for being empty-headed, but took a good look at me and made a shooing gesture with his hand.

"Sumimasen," I replied dully. Of course he wouldn't understand what I said; that was the point. It was my way of keeping disconnected. The man shrugged and drove off without asking for an explanation.

People have a strangely acute sense of weirdness. Some will just shrug it off and let live. Others will hone in on it, magnify it, point it out in a loud voice, and declare you a pariah. There are a lot of the latter in grade school.

Being a pariah wasn't so bad. The few interactions I did have with other humans other than Dad were awkward, which just annoyed me. But I didn't blame them. I was disconnected from all humans except my dad, and even that was only a partial connection. It was just how I was. I'd accepted it.

But I don't accept this empty feeling inside, or my dying heart. Is this what that boy was talking about years ago? Is it too late for me? What do I do now? There was a dull pang of pain. I couldn't even cry anymore.

Ting ting…

I stiffened as I was brought back to reality and quickly turned my head to the source of metal tapping together.

Everything went into slow motion…I was met with a familiar black cloak walking past me. I held my breath as the figure kept walking, ignoring me as he sang quietly.

"Is it bright where you are?

Have the people changed?

Does it make you happy, you're so strange…"

My voice wouldn't work. Why couldn't I call out to him? My feet were glued to the sidewalk as he kept going. He was about my height, but I still didn't get a good look at him. I knew, however, that he was the same boy from years ago. How? He must be the same height as when we met! Is it just short or…did he stop aging?

"Roxas…" I said too quietly for him to hear. My feet finally started moving and I followed him, putting a few feet from the two of us. He paid no attention to me but his singing got louder.

"And in your darkest hour

I hold secrets flame…"

The song was familiar to me too, since I've heard it on the radio. Something in me stirred, and I instinctively finished the chorus with him.

"We can watch the world devoured in its pain."

The cloaked figure stopped upon hearing me join in but didn't immediately turn around. We both kept quiet, blocking out everything else in the world. Finally the boy turned to the street, his head low. "Depressing song, huh?" he asked.

His question took me by surprise. I couldn't find a response so I just shrugged. A puff of foggy breath escaped his hood before he laughed pleasantly, another thing that surprised me. He seemed different than before. Maybe he didn't know who I was. Or he probably wasn't Roxas. "You don't remember me, do you?" he inquired.

I gasped. So he was Roxas, and he did remember me. "Roxas," I answered quietly.

"That's right." He finally removed his hood with hands clothed in leather gloves, giving me another moment of surprise. Blond hair up in spikes, striking blue eyes, and a young face. Not a face that you would associate with being emo. Then again, his eyes looked so sad.

I shook my head clear of my thoughts. Why am I still here? Years ago he was here to either kill me or abduct me! I should've run away right from the start! I took a step back from him but that was all my body was willing to do. It was like there was some kind of attraction to him; otherwise I wouldn't have followed him so willingly. People didn't have that effect on me; I usually didn't want to have anything to do with them.

"It's so cold," he commented. "Can we get out of this air and talk?"

No! Just walk away! I opened my mouth but no words came out. I wasn't much of a talker. This was a kind of fear I haven't felt in years, and didn't think I would feel again.

Roxas sighed and got closer to me. "Are you scared?" He sounded sad when he said this. "You look terrified. Come on." He gently took his gloved hand in mine and tugged.

Bum bum

"My heart!" I hissed as I yanked my hand away from him. What was once dull and almost lifeless had instantly beat so loudly I could feel it, and was certain that Roxas heard it. Although it sounded exaggerated, that was the most I got out of my heart in a long time.

Roxas blinked in confusion but kept his hand out. "Something wrong?" When I shook my head in denial, he laughed again. "Don't scare me like that again."

I put my hands behind my back. There was so much to ask him, but I didn't know whether or not to stay away. I was both scared and intrigued by him. "What's with you?" I said shakily.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he assured me. "Come on."

I shouldn't have stayed there, but I slowly calmed down and held out my hand. He gently grasped it again. "How about some breakfast? My treat." There wasn't any protest from me, since I was too busy with my loud heartbeat.

As he guided me to the diner I was going to for breakfast, I couldn't help but feel like we were a couple. A romantic couple. That thought had me yank my hand back again in embarrassment, making Roxas stop again. "I'm not scared," I quickly told him. "I just wanted my hand back."

For a moment, Roxas looked disappointed. Then he shrugged and opened the door for me. I led him to a booth at the far end of the diner, waiting for him to sit down first. Even though it meant facing him, which would probably be uncomfortable for both of us, I sat on the other side of the table.

A waitress came to get our orders, avoiding eye contact with us as we told them to her. She's looking out the window. She's scared of us. My eyes followed her as she went to the kitchen.

Roxas waited for her to leave before speaking. "Sometimes you never do get used to it," he told me solemnly.

"Hm?" My gaze snapped back to Roxas' eyes then quickly diverted.

"The way they go out of their way to avoid our attention. I'm okay with it, but you haven't been around as long as I have."

"Why are you here?" I blurted out harshly. My mouth worked before my mind could stop it, but they both agreed that they wanted answers. I was angry that he would act as if he was so casual about this while I was terrified, like our last meeting didn't happen.

He looked at me with those sad eyes, and I briefly felt guilt. "There are a few things I need to do here."

"Like what?"

"I have to meet a couple of people."

"Who?"

"None of your business." His voice hinted at his slight amusement.

"What's with you?"

"Pleading the fifth now."

I groaned and glared at him. "I don't get you!" I shouted. The heads of the few people in the diner lowered in pain. Once more pain burned in my throat.

Roxas stood up and looked over at the man sitting behind him, then at the window. At a long crack that wasn't there before. "Maybe we should get off this topic," he said seriously.

The waitress came back then with our food and drink, bacon and scrambled eggs for both of us. I took a gulp of my orange juice and sighed as the liquid soothed my throat. "I'm just so confused. Just who are you?" I pleaded.

Roxas held his fork an inch from his mouth. "I'm new to this, the whole…friendly thing. I was just experimenting. Physical contact was freaking you out, joking around with you was frustrating you, and I knew being serious was going to scare you."

I understood what he meant, since I was the same way around people. So he is like me. Do I still want to know more? Maybe I should ask. The questions never got out; I was still afraid of his answers. We just ate in silence, then left after paying.

Again I was unconsciously following him in the direction of my house, my footprints fitting in his. Roxas had his hood up but had his head held high this time. "This is the way to your apartment, right?" he asked.

"We moved," I answered. "But my house is this way."

He stopped and let me take the lead. I listened close to the sound of his footsteps, pausing when they stopped. We were now across the street from the park where we met. "It hasn't changed at all," he mused.

"Yeah." I started back to walking. I wanted to stay away from there at all costs.

My companion caught up as I walked around the corner and stood in front of my new home. "This is where you live?"

"Yeah."

A hand roughly grabbed my arm, making me gasp and struggle a little. My heartbeat came back louder and faster than ever. "I came to collect you," he said darkly.

"What?" My fear came back full force, and the unfamiliar feeling made it worse. "Let me go!"

He winced from my painful voice but held on. "The seal isn't working."

"That's not a problem!" I pulled harder, but that only made his grip tighten.

"Yes, it is. You've stopped aging, your heart is dying, and your powers are developing. You'll soon feel the need to sever the bond between you and your father."

"No!"

His grip got even tighter, and I sank to my knees in pain. "I'll be here at midnight to get you. And if I need to use force, I will."

There was a new pain as he released me and walked away, this time in my heart. My heart, once comatose, had now let me release the first tears I had shed in nine years.