On the way to Bender's house, I wasn't anticipating a house consumed with grandeur upholstery. On the contrary, I expected opulence's binary opposite. What I was definitely not expecting was uneasy atmosphere that devoured the entire street. The milieu was a destitute one, barren. The lack of decoration on the different houses didn't bother me, nor did the garbage cans full to the brim of rotting cardboard boxes and decaying vegetables, the once fresh colors masqueraded by white mould. What I didn't expect – idiotically, if I must admit – was the screams of women arguing with their husbands, the dialogue consisting of nothing but cusses and children sitting on the road playing with matches. Those who were sat on the cracked sidewalk were catapulting broken pieces of crayons at passing cars.

"Get fucked, kid!" one man retaliated before speeding off, the kids on the road leaping up and diving for the safety of the sidewalk. They didn't throw anything at us, but just gawked as if I were inhuman, an alien to them.

I cleared my throat, lowering my gaze a little due to the uncomfortable situation of having half a dozen sets of multicoloured eyes stalking my every movement. Only one kid spoke up, acknowledging Bender primarily, with me being the subject that caused the conversation to be established.

"Hey, Bender! Who's the pretty lady?" a kid with tousled, seal brown hair and purple crayon smeared over his milky white face inquired. Their clothes were not ragged and didn't have the stereotyped tears and rips, they were dressed normally. T-shirts with slogans of some cartoon, jeans and Nike Airs. That's all there was to it, really.

Bender smirked at the kid, ruffling his hair with that big, bear hand of his that smelled of nicotine.

"She your date?" he asked, nodding at me in a gesture, a broad grin on his lips.

"Shh, I wanna keep it a secret" Bender whispered back, pressing one of those nicotine fingers to his plump lips that have smirked devilishly many times. "She's called Simmone, but I'm sure she won't object to being called a pretty lady"

I couldn't help but to giggle a little at Bender and his interaction with the kid. He was sweet and spoke in voice that gleamed with care.

"God, Bender, could've at least taken her to McDonald's or something!" the kid jokingly whined and then courteously dismissed Bender with a jovial wave of his hand. "Have a good date. If things mess up, save her for me"

"Hey, don't let your mother hear that kind of talk about dating girls. She'll have a heart attack" Bender chuckled, ruffling the kids hair one more time. With another wave of his hand, the kid sent Bender off. When he reached me, the first thing I did was spot the warm grin on his lips.

"You're good with kids" I remarked.

It was an honest remark. I didn't think Bender could have a paternal side to him. The juxtaposition between his boisterous side and caring side never fails to intrigue me. It interests me how one can have two juxtaposing sides to them, especially with an enigma such as Bender who guards his private life as if his life depended on it.

Now, I watch a self-satisfied smirk crawl on his lips once again. He shrugs as if it were a compliment heard many times. Who knew Bender also possessed modesty?

"They're human, too. Sometimes parents forget about that" he mutters, heading off towards his house.

He's right. Parents often forget that we teenagers are human too. The dynamics between a parent and child is primarily based on this covetous need to demand respect, whilst they disregard that we also want respect. I respect my father because he gave me life, but on the rare occasions where he drowns his sorrows in a glass of Jack Daniels and decides it is acceptable to yell slurs at me, then I refuse to put up with it. You wouldn't tolerate someone else doing it, and just because you have been given the entitlement of being a parent where you are instantly put into a position of authority, it doesn't mean you can abuse that. Parents are human, too. They have flaws affixed to their personality – but so do we. It's called being human. At the end of it, that's all we are. A body with numerous organs that makes mistakes, but simultaneously conceives innovative notions. We have a good and bad side.

"Carrying on daydreaming, sweet cheeks, and you're gonna end up in the morgue" Bender suddenly shouts, snapping me out of this analytical reverie. I blink a few times and speedily examine the area around me.

I'm standing in the middle of the road. To my immediate dismay, I breathe in a sharp intake of air. The moment I do that, I am overwhelmed by the faint aroma of cheap beer and sex mixed together in a sordid cocktail. My nose wrinkles a little as I cringe. Without a word, I jog over to Bender's house where he quickly enters. His first motion into the house was reminiscent of a police officer scrutinising a crime scene where the perilous criminal is still on-location. Something isn't right.

"Well, don't just stand outside. You'll get a cold or somethin', and the last thing I need is you rocket launching boogers everywhere" Bender says matter of factly, turning around again before heading into a room that I'm estimating is his bedroom. "I don't have enough plaid shirts to make you another tissue, Simmone. Come in or get your own tissues!"

Obeying his wish, I tentatively walk into the unkempt living room. My eyes slowly adjust to the dim light, inspecting the wooden floor masqueraded by ancient newspapers, mainly the sports sections. Those bold prints stare at me, watching me as I hastily step over them. As my mother once said, it looks as if a hurricane flew over it.

"Bender?" I call out, my voice possibly sounding a little sheepish.

Bender's shadow, lengthening his initially tall height, beckons me. However, it melts into the darkness, finding comfort with the other shadows. I watch my own shadow mirroring my action of walking warily, but it soon blends with Bender's as I find myself in his room. The silence is eerie and causes me to shudder, revealing how uneasy I feel right now.

"RA!"

I scream, feeling the shockwaves slash their way throughout my body. Clutching my heart and breathing recklessly, I spin around to see Bender's body collapsing onto the bed. The only part of him missing is his head that is masqueraded by a Jason mask from Friday 13th.

"Shit, Bender!" I gasp, trying to gather my breath and find a peaceful breathing pattern. Before finding it though, I succumb to the uproarious laughter that bounces off the walls. My hand that was once clasping my top now covers my grin. "Nice to see your real face for once"

Bender allows another bout of hearty laughter to release itself from his throat, walking over to me like a man drunk with happiness. He extends his arm, offering me his hand in a gesture to get up. I take it, and heave myself off of the floor.

"Come on, let's get my coat and split" Bender chuckles, the once joyous laughter dying away, but the effects prevailing and manifesting on his facial features. He really does have a nice smile.

I nod, but the leisurely motion is soon sped up as my head snaps in the direction of the sound of a woman with a high shrilled voice screaming at the top of her lungs at someone else outside. Bender immediately grabs my shoulder, whirling me around to the point where my vision distorts everything in the house.

"Hey! Bender, what the hell are you doing?" I snap, attempting to wriggle out of his robust hold. He opens the closet door where sparse items of clothing hang on wooden hangers.

"Just keep quiet, Nightingale" he hisses, pushing me into the closet where my shoulder makes harsh contact with the wall. I stifle a pained moan, clenching my lower lip as Bender slams the door behind me.

Everything accelerates. As if I am in a car watching the world zoom past and fade behind me, the events, the noises, happen at a dazzling rate. There's a scream, a verbal conflict and then the front door slams. Heavy footsteps pound the floor. My heart rate increases. It wants to escape, to rupture my skin and flee. The footsteps slow down. Erratic breathing dwindles to this numbness. The events of the day react themselves in a second.

Heather in the car.

Abe or John Bender?

"Eight hours – write"

The fight for my cigarette.

Dora Maar au Chat.

No more Miss Nightingale.

Labels.

Hamburgers.

The bloody nose.

This is only the beginning. Saturday detention is not meaningless anymore. It's the beginning of Bender's story.

***********
A/N: Hey, everyone! Firstly, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Secondly, I am writing 'Danger. Part Two' as you read this! Thanks for reading and being patient with me. I've been pretty busy recently in a play and doing school work whilst juggling this with a job and trying, and at times failing, to have a bit of a social life. So, again, thank you for being patient! Also, thank you to those who have favourited and followed this story since I last updated. Please review if you're up to it, your feedback means A LOT to me. Thanks, guys!

Vogue. X