Hope you guys liked that prologue...I admit it was pretty short. But it was just to introduce the story. I know I said I would update once a week, but I got really excited and proud and here is the official first chapter.

Chapter 1

Fist fights sucked. Especially the ones that attracted crowds. Those were the worst. He winced as he touched the cut on his lip and the growing bruise on his knee. That would leave a mark. Luckily it was winter and he could hide his various bruises and gashes underneath clothing. But it would hurt like crap tomorrow. Flopping on his bed, which was a bad idea because of the bruise on his back, he stared up at the ceiling and cursed whoever thought it would be a good idea to mess with the "emo freak." That never ends well. For anyone. He kicked his shoes off and flipped so he was on his stomach. Slightly better in the sense that he barely had any bruises on his chest. With his face buried in the pillow, he didn't hear the door to his room open until he felt the bed sink under the weight of someone on his bed. Groaning he looked up to see the face of his sister. Concern, disappointment and pity were all shown on her face. He didn't need her pity. He only needed some disinfectant and maybe some bandages for the assortment of injuries on his body.

Slowly he sat up, moaning when he twisted wrong and made the bruise on his back suddenly flare up with pain. His sister noticed, of course she did, and she made a beeline to the bathroom where he kept the medical supplies.

With her arms filled with their collection of first-aid, she ordered him to remove his shirt. Rolling his eyes, he grumbled about women always trying to get his shirt off. She rolled her eyes back at him, and gestured impatiently, saying that if he wanted her help, he needed to take his shirt off. Still muttering under his breath, he complied, wincing as he moved his sore arms over his head. She shook her head at his mass of distorted flesh. Digging out the disinfectant, she asked a silent question with a slight tilt of her head. He looked down at his lap, embarrassed that he had let their words get to him yet again. He hated the way they looked at him, sneered at him, like he was something less than human. She never had that problem, because she was beautiful, smart, funny, and above all, normal. He didn't have that luxury. So he said nothing, but she understood.

Sensing that the conversation was over before it even started, she gently cleaned out his wounds and then carefully placed bandages on the worst. Occasionally he hissed out in pain, and she would just bite her lips and say nothing. He knew this was his fault. He shouldn't let those ignorant fools get to him. But they did. So he had to fight. She didn't understand the duty and responsibility that comes with being a guy. You had to stand up for yourself, or suffer even more bullying.

As she was cleaning his cuts and bruises, he thought about what it would feel like to have his hands touching him like his sister was. He wanted to feel like what it would be if he was cleaning the wounds, muttering calming words under his breath, singing under his breath. You are my sunshine. Immediately his cheeks flared up with a blush. Trying to hide his face from his sister, he turned his head in embarrassment. He didn't need her interrogating him. But she noticed his abrupt movement and cocked her eyebrow in an unspoken question. He shook his head and tried to bring her attention to the particularly nasty bruise on his knee, which was probably the worst.

She turned her attention to the bruise, but he knew the conversation was long from over. At least he had a bit longer until she dredged the truth out of him. With a satisfied nod of her head, she indicated that all his injuries had been taken care of. He flashed a grateful look at her and flopped on the bed again. He grunted when he felt the rough sheets on his unprotected knee. The bandages helped his other wounds, but the pain was still there. He sighed heavily, and looked out the window. His sister shook her head at his antics and dramatics and walked out of his apartment.

Finally she was gone. He appreciated her concern, but sometimes he really needed some time to himself. He rolled off his bed and searched under it for the box he knew was there…somewhere. At last his hand came into contact with the cardboard edges. He pulled it out and sat it on his lap. With a deep breath, he opened it.

There was the scrap of blue fabric on top. He brought it up to his cheek and inhaled deeply. It still held the faint scent of sunshine and the beach. But maybe that was just his imagination. This was by far his favorite piece of the box. He set the fabric aside, and dug around the box, fingering each object and remembering each moment when he had added it to his memory box. There was the scrap of fabric, a couple photos, a napkin with a smiley face and a number written on it, a cheesy sticky note that was wrinkled and stained, an old hoodie with a smiling sun on it, and many other seemingly random objects. His hand flew up to finger the ring he had hanging on a chain around his neck, remembering the bittersweet memories that accompanied each and every item. And, just like usual, each memory and each object brought a stab to his heart when he remembered why he kept them, and why they would never be more than pieces of his past. People suck. Today had brought up ancient recollections of him and he needed this reminder that that time was long past, and the only things he had for company were scraps of fabric and faint images of times long gone.

Having his fill of bittersweet thoughts and remembering, he tucked every piece of his childhood tenderly in the box, and slid it under the bed again, waiting to be dug out again when he needed the reminder that life sucked, and that promises were made to break.

So this story has 8 chapters and I have them all written out. As I said I will try to restrain myself and update once a week but if I get too excited I may update sooner;) See you next week!