KH - Plain Sight Chapter 1
Plain Sight Chapter 1
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Character: Roxas
Genre: Sci-Fi/Romance
Rating: T / PG-13
Chapters: 2 / ??
Beta: N/A
Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts rights belong to Square Enix and Disney. This piece of fiction is fan-made and as such I am making no monetary profits off of this
My first day of school should have been eventful, but it wasn't. It turns out the schools don't introduce you like they used to. They threw you into your first day with the expectation that you could handle anything that came at you, be it under their radar or not. It seemed that raising your voice on any matter of this sort of treatment was discouraged. In fact, they seem to value the kids who know how- not when- to shut up. The entire thing was nothing short of a disappointing.
In fact, it was several kinds of disappointing. I'd expected drama and enthusiasm. However, I was met with nothing more than a pile of “Why am I here?” teenagers and middle-aged “Could've been a somebody but I got my teaching license instead and hate my job” men and women going through the motions until Saturday. Then, well, who knew? There's always that sneaking suspicion that your Chem teacher has a thing for shower curtains. And your English teach who has a strange fixation with Urination, and- in your imagination- an affinity for golden showers.
But, enough of that. Don't need any school kids reading this to walk into class tomorrow with a whole new view of their teachers and any possible fetishes they may have. (The teacher with a bible on his desk? He really likes high school girls in latex with whips calling him a bitch. And feet. He really likes feet. Don't ask me how I know this. I just do. And I'm totally talking to you, nerd. Yeah, you. The one with bad grades and religious parents but secretly reads gay porn during lunch in the library at school.)
So, people suck.
Yeah- really don't know how to treat something like this. The whole “mental monologue” thing. Don't know why I'm doing it, especially in gym class. We're playing dodgeball. Just so you know, my ass isn't being handed to me. That was a few minutes ago. My ass is within my possession, seated squarely on the “jail” bench waiting for a “jailbreak.”
When they did shout it, guess what happened?
That's right. I was pelted right in the face. My only consolation is that the other guy is out now, too. Thank God or whatever for penalties.
But then my vision started getting really blurry and they sent me to the nurse's office. Except it was the nurse's day off, so the assistant was there to take care of me. The only thing that really stuck to me about the whole exchange was that his fingers were really, really warm. Uncomfortable warm. Like, “Don't you dare touch me with those ice-cube-toes” in the Winter, except warm and it's Autumn.
So you can imagine my surprise when something happened the next day.
“Hi, I'm Hayner!” The boy in my Chem class, who'd spent the entire hour the day before balancing a pencil on his nose, spoke. It was a surprise that such a talented individual deigned to speak with a mortal such as this, but it happens sometimes. This is such an event.
Sarcasm. It's a gift.
This is the part where you laugh.
Ha-ha.
“I'm Roxas,” I replied, holding out a hand to shake. He stared at it oddly, almost as if in shock. Or something. In fact, he looked like a five-year-old lost in the supermarket. Then, unbidden, an image appeared in my head.
“Where's my Mommy?” little Hayner asked, tugging on my imaginary pant leg and staring up at me with eyes exaggerated to the point where they dominated his face in their own big, blue, adorable way. He was the sort of tiny and cute that left all that looked on completely incapacitated.
After a few awkward seconds, I withdrew my hand. Note to self: Teenagers don't shake hands. In fact, it seems such social dalliances are completely foreign to them. Like homosexuality to that one guy with the 'stash, except they didn't go around cutting off hands wherever they were offered. Otherwise all it would take is one little mistake and whack! There goes your career as an artist. Or a writer. Or whatever. (I personally think accountants would go through the most hell if this ever happened. Voice recognition won't help you now, bitch!)
(I would like to state that none of this mental monologue should be repeated in front of my mother. Please. Dear mother of flying jellyfish, please.)
(Ha-ha. Jellyfish.)
“You're not from around here, are you?” Hayner asked after a tense silence. The teacher droned on in the background about Electrons.
I shrugged. “Lived here all my life, but I've been home-schooled in Uptown Rabenastre since I was four.” Hayner glanced at my other hand, then. (I'm left handed.) He seemed perplexed that I was able to chat and take notes at the same time. As I am Hybrid this isn't much of a stretch. Multitasking comes easy. Wisdom, not so much. Like, I'm good at noticing things- like the tinting at Hayner's eyebrows and the teasing at the hairline- but prepare yourself for some serious lack of social graces in the future.
Like this one. “Are you gay?”
“Wha- no!” He looked insulted. “Are you?”
“Dunno. Never had a relationship before.”
Then he stared. Hayner stared at me for a very long time after I said this. Finally, at the end of the period after the line of conversation had been dropped and I'd burned through a good two pages of my notebook- front to back- in notes, after the bell rang and everyone started filing out and heading toward the lunch room he fixed me with a look. One that read he was curious but fearful. The kind that screamed he was apprehensive and depending on my answer would not hesitate to sock me in the jaw. “Were you coming on to me, shorty?” What did height have to do with anything?
Ignoring the name, I bothered to give him a once-over. Baggy cargos that didn't resemble camouflage despite their attempt at doing so, a tank-top that declared he was trying too hard, vest that didn't suit his face shape, and spiky hair with excessive product. “No.” Oh- and combat boots. Have to admit, those were pretty cool. But they didn't make up for the vest. Sorry, kid.
Should I be calling him kid? I mean, it's my head and all but he is older than me. Not just by a few months or years, but nearly a decade. But this thought was brushed off quickly.
On another note, Hayner appeared disgruntled, and a bit disappointed, but overall satisfied. “In that case, you should meet the others- Pence and Olette.” Odd how he referred to them as “the others” instead of his friends. But when we approached his lunch table about three minutes later I saw why.
There was no room for friendship with the way they were cooing over each other, spooning school pudding into each others' mouths. Cooing noises were exchanged. Dear God, they were the embodiment of the super-couple and I had only just seen them. Who knew what went on behind closed doors.
(I could fancy a guess. Trade offs on who would kiss who first. No sex. Never any sex. And secretly they were so insecure about themselves they couldn't see a relationship with any other person working. They tried, they clung. Then again, they looked like nice enough people. Minus the whole pudding thing. That was kind of weird.)
“Who you got there, Hayner?” the girl asked. Pence or Olette? Probably Pence. Wait for it- the girl's name is totally Pence, just to mess with people.
“Hey, Olette.” And it isn't. Darn. “He just transferred in. We've got Chem together.” Then he jostled my shoulder. “Introduce yourself!” he prompted, then headed off towards the lunch line. I, noticeable, had a bag lunch.
In my defense for what I am about to say, I was trying to make a good first impression. These attempts, no matter who you are, always fail horribly. The seats across the way- which was the established Hybrid table- had reached a sudden crescendo despite how they appeared to usually be so quiet. Instead of, “Nice to meet you, I'm Roxas,” I said, “Hi, I'm human.” I set my lunch on the table and proceeded to mentally tear myself to pieces. “Roxas.” The correction came quickly. “I meant I'm Roxas.” Smooth move, genius. “Sorry about that.”
Olette laughed. “Don't worry about it. You're short, so you probably get that a lot.” Height again? And get what a lot?
Then it hit me, and I felt like an idiot.
They thought because I was short- Hybrid height- I felt the need to point out that I was human.
Not that you hadn't already probably figured that out, but still.
“Yeah,” I improvised. “I do. Becomes a habit, you know?” Lie, lie, lie.
The girl nodded along, and the boy hummed in approval. He then extended his hand, which I took with relief. “I'm Pence,” he greeted. “Though you probably figured that out. Nice to meet you!”
I shook his hand heartily, relieved to see it wasn't something you couldn't do. “Nice to meet you, too.”
When Hayner returned with a tray we all ate in relative silence before heading out into the Quad.
“So,” Pence began as we circled around to an amp-theater-like construction, “what are you planning to do once you graduate?”
Ah. So Pence is one of those smart ones. “Don't know. I'm thinking of doing something like Radiology, but that's about it.” I paused, but then remembered something to do with courtesy. He'd asked me my plans, I ask him for his. “What are you going to do?”
“Convenience store owner.” Come again? “Not much of a career, but my dad owns a chain of family ran and owned convenience stores, and management will be passed on to me eventually.” He grinned shyly, scratching the back of his head with one hand.
I nodded, then turned to the girl. “What about you, Olette?”
“Veterinarian,” she prompted immediately. “I've been helping my uncle for two weeks of every Winter with his dingos down in Australia since I was nine, and it seems like the next logical step.”
The two of us nodded along, but Hayner remained silent by my side. Something charged the atmosphere, even after Pence laughed and asked, “So what have you decided on this time, Hayner?” No response.
“Hayner has this habit of changing what he wants to be every week,” Olette mused to me quietly, leaning over the table to whisper into my ear. I bent forward to accommodate her angle. “His record was wanting to be a professional skater for about a month. That was during the Summer before high school- a year and a half ago. Before that it was 'Brain Surgeon.'”
I glanced at the boy, then, and wondered. Was he brilliant, or stupid? Was he painfully average in the head? I'd known him for about an hour, and already I was curious. Unfortunately, none of this curiosity was satisfied. The rest of the lunch period passed without the boy opening his mouth once, and I didn't see the three in any of my other classes.
But as I left the school after the final bell, I spotted someone familiar out of the corner of my eye. Xion. She was laughing with a bunch of friends, her eyes glittering with some sort of glee, concealing the sorrow I knew someone could find if they looked hard enough. “Sora,” she had said. It was as if it was her lifeline, and it had been ripped right out of her grasp.
I moved to go near her, drawn in by some invisible force, but something stopped me. Although I'd like to say it was a sense of duty to let her live free and develop on her own without help, it was a physical force.
Hayner stood beside me, a strong hand grasping my upper arm. “No,” he said, head shaking a negative. “I'm going to say this once, and only once. Don't go near her.” There was a part of me that whispered that he had caught onto the plan on some subconscious level. He knew she was going to bring about his end, be it directly or indirectly. But something bigger told me I was being paranoid. They had history somewhere in the past where I wasn't concerned and should never be involved with.
When my eyes raced back to their previous subject, they met another pair. They was impossibly blue, with highlights of periwinkle and navy. This pair was sad, and Xion seemed to apologize, shaking her head as if to tell me, “We can't know each other here.”
And I knew she was right in every way.
...
That night we had a guest. He arrived shortly after I got home. Four knocks announced his arrival, timed to make a sort of metronome in their delivery. It was as if the person was a professional, hitting the door in perfectly-spaced increments with the same combination of speed and pressure. But they didn't have professional door-knockers so I brushed the idea off. Instead, I opened the door. There a boy stood, a good two inches taller than me. Ears, pointy and soft in appearance. Catlike. A light dusting of gray fur darkened the exposed parts of his skin- face, neck, arms, wrists and hands. His tail flicked back and forth, almost nervously, as he stood in the doorway, standing with one hand casually flung to the side of a messenger bag, keeping it still.
“Is Lucrecia at home?” he asked, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. Every movement was made with obvious mental deliberation as his hand tightened on the bag to compensate for the jostling. The muffled clinking of wrapped glass shuffled from the fabric. It played in my ears as I mentally connected the dots. The Mako from the basement had to get here somehow.
“Yeah,” I mused, ushering the boy into the living room. “You must be the new delivery boy.” The boy nodded, all nerves and meekness. My feet carried me to the basement door, and I knocked four times. Evenly spaced, with the same amount of speed and pressure each time. Without intending to, I'd copied the older boy's knocking pattern. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him flinch, obviously wondering if this was protocol. In all honesty, I had no idea. But I wasn't going to tell the poor guy that.
“Yes?” a voice called.
“Someone's here to see you.”
A bit of shuffling, then footsteps. I backed away from the door as my mother stepped out, accompanied by a tall Hybrid man, the skin of his head spiking upwards and back into some sort of pattern, falling about his face much like hair. Mentally, I cross-referenced the traits. Part hippopotamus, part skunk, and part human. I'd hate to see what his back looked like.
“Go downstairs, honey,” Lucrecia ordered. Being the good little boy I am, I followed directions. There in the basement I saw Xion and the redhead in much the same situation I had left them months before. Only this time Xion was asleep. The other girl looked up at me, sparing a smile. “You must be Roxas,” she sighed. “I'm Kairi, Xion's sister.” My head bobbed in confirmation, but my head whirled. Her lips told one story, her face told another. One that didn't speak of siblings and family, but of love and... that one thing people do in bed. Sex or something.
I'm nine. Don't expect me to know everything. Fetishes I know about. We have cable. Sex, not so much. Not to say I'm not curious, what with all these new hormones circulating as such.
“Nice to meet you, Kairi,” I replied, ever polite. On the approach to the bed, I made sure to banish any wary expressions. They were teenagers, but were doing adult things. Getting ahead of themselves, like I was with school. But then, they were probably just curious.
But Xion had been pregnant so that excuse wasn't going to fly.
It was then that I stopped that train of thought. They were older, so they knew what they were doing.
Probably.
“Do you know what they're talking about upstairs?” I asked, knowing full-well she might not have an answer.
She grinned. “They're passing off a failed mission to our friend Zexion. That's all I can really say.”
My eyes bugged. Something in my gut twisted, and my heart began to flutter. “That was Zexion?” I gaped, curious. The adults sometimes spoke of the Hybrid- mostly in hushed tones when they thought no one was listening. The Cloaked Schemer, they called him. All full of plans and ways to put them into action without any humans being the wiser. A master of weaving illusions without any of the complicated gimmicks or tricks that AVALANCHE had been getting all too familiar with.
Even as a teenager he was key to the operation, but from what I had seen upstairs- a boy aware of only insignificance- he didn't know it.
…
That night I dreamed of Sora. At first this meant big blue eyes, brown hair cut like his mom's, but messier. Baby cheeks, diapers, crying, and then laughter. Baby's laughter, cute and sweet and innocent.
Then it meant the fetus, cooped up in the mason jar in the corner of the basement. Xion, crying, curled in a ball, screaming for her baby.
Sora. Sora. Sora.
I woke up with the voice a whisper on my lips, like every other night.
…
A good two weeks later, I spotted Zexion at school.
At first I thought I was seeing things. He couldn't really go to my school, could he? Shouldn't he be home-schooled, where his genius can shine and develop fully into some sort of butterfly-thing? Or something else not quite as girly?
But there he was, out on the lawn at lunch sitting with some guy. Spiky blond hair, lithe, carrying a camera, sort of tanned, human. The usual.
Wait, what?
My brain stalled at the final bit of information it was offered. Zexion was hanging out with a human, which was not only counterproductive, but slightly hypocritical. Something didn't quite fit, and at the same time they looked completely comfortable with one another. But the way they interacted was nothing short of easy friendship, bordering on romantic. The only expression I'd seen on Zexion's face prior to that moment was accepting unease. Now, that may have been for about ten seconds, but the fact remains that a smile did not belong there on a regular basis. And that's what he had. A smile to rival all smiles.
And this blond had prompted it. (Nothing against blonds of course. I'm blond, as well. We're a lot smarter than people seem to think. It's just that there are people who make any social group look bad, and ours tend to be an exaggerated form of the stereotype.)
“Hey.”
“GRAH!” I freaked. When one stalls in a hallway zoning out, staring into space and obviously on some other planet, the last thing they expect- despite how television, real life experience, and novels have tried to educate us otherwise- is for someone to walk up behind them and speak. The result was something between heart failure and a panic attack.
Hayner grimaced. “Dude, calm down. It's not like I...” He trailed off, trying to find an expression or situation of great horror to share and make my current state look like a walk in the park. However, the boy seemed to have fallen short on such a speech, and simply stood there looking stupid for a second. “I got nothin'.”
“Nice to know.” Cue awkward silence, only it wasn't actually awkward. Well, it was. For him. Because the teenage mind tends to over-dramatize everything, making any good situation a fantastic day-maker and anything embarrassing was by default the end of the world.
Peering outside the window behind me, Hayner grimaced. “What are you looking at?”
“Huh? Oh.” I followed his gaze to the pair on the grass just beyond the sill. “Nothing, really. Just stuck in a stare.” When I finished saying this and his expression melted away into something normal, I became aware of just how much animosity was there. It was both impressive and disturbing.
“C'mon,” he prompted. “Let's go. The others are waiting.”
When we finally got to the table Hayner left to get his lunch and Olette rounded on me. “So when are you going to tell him?”
I blinked. “Tell who what?”
She giggled. “Tell Hayner that you like him, silly! I've seen the way you trail after him.”
“That's...” I paused. “Creepy. To say the least.”
Pence sighed. “Tell me about it.”
Olette blinked. “What?”
Patting the girl's shoulder, the chubby teen attempted a consoling tone. “Olette, we don't even know if he swings that way.”
She huffed. “Of course he does! He had that thing for Demyx for the longest time!”
“No- not Hayner. Roxas.”
There was a short period of time in which no words were exchanged. An awkward silence, if you will, only it seemed centered around Olette this time. I seemed to be graced with unusual quantities of luck, having not been the victim in this embarrassing-silence-rich day. Then Hayner walked up with his lunch and things got even worse, because we couldn't continue and hope to dispel the misunderstanding with a bit of talking or something like that. Because it was silence, and it was awkward. Like an upside-down turtle in the middle of a cassette store. Or like really out of place laughter in a funeral.
And so, no one stopped Hayner when he went off in some direction with his speech, fumbling over the words like no tomorrow and making a fool of himself several times.
Okay, I lie. He actually had homework he hadn't finished the night before and we all sat quiet with the uncomfortable lack of speech that comes with girls trying to hook up guys she doesn't know whether or not are gay. Because, frankly, I'm too young for this shit.
…
Sometime during sixth period, I ran into Pence in the bathroom. We gave the traditional friendly smile, but made sure not to make eye contact while we used the John.
“So,” he began, meaning he was breaking one tradition you never break. Talking while peeing. “I recommend not telling Hayner you're a Hybrid.”
This earned another broken tradition- eye contact. Or an attempt at it, because the guy was so much taller than me. “What-”
“You made it pretty obvious,” he supplied courteously, much to my despair. “The whole 'human' slip when we met, your height, the way you carry yourself- but there's one thing I can't quite pin.” Eye contact obtained. “Do you really have a crush on Hayner?”
“No.” Automatic. Necessary. So, so necessary. My cover was blown. Dear lord, my cover was blown, and so quickly.
“Ah, well, that's good.” He finished up, put himself away, and backed himself up to the wall. “He doesn't have the greatest tolerance towards the existence of Hybrids. I mean, he's been doing better for a few months now that his anger's been directed at Demyx, but... Usually he's what we'd call an 'extremist.'”
It was strange, to say the least. Very different from the average reaction to Hybrids that I've heard from people coming into the house. It was why I'd taken the public separation of the two species in stride. There would occasionally be someone calling one a freak, or some sort of equivalent, but generally I didn't see much abuse. Mainly because I didn't share any come into contact with any. Hayner, once or twice, muttered a curse under his breath as we passed one in the hallway on the way to lunch, but there wasn't much beyond that. “How come you're so tolerant?”
“Grew up in Australia with Olette. Racism isn't all that rampant there.”
Questions, so many questions, popped to mind. “Why'd you come to the mainland?”
“Well,” he mused, “the usual. Our parents wanted us to experience the world as it is. See what it has to offer.”
“So you're siblings?”
Pence blinked. “No. We're cousins.”
“Oh.”
“But we are in an arranged marriage.”
I moved to turn around, utterly shocked, but remembered just why I was at a urinal. I finished up, put the stool away, and managed to sputter, “Seriously? But you're cousins!”
“Doesn't matter,” he replied, ever infuriatingly calm. “Give us enough time. We'll fall in love.”
There was a short silence before I addressed another question. “What's the worst Hayner's done?”
Silence. Then Pence sighed, leaning heavier against the wall. He shifted once, then again before pushing away from the tiles and taking a seat on one of the stools for shorter students. (Yes, I was using one. Shut up.) “About a year ago ago he lynched this guy named Zack. Poor kid didn't even see it coming. Our friend Demyx took the fall for him since Hayner was on the brink of expulsion at the time. Now, it wasn't much of a fall, if you ask me. Senator's son lynching a Hybrid? Got off with a warning.” He shrugged. “Then the guy fell for this girl, and they got together. A few months later she got pregnant, and word got out she was a Hybrid.”
“Xion.”
“Yeah- you know her?”
“Vaguely.”
The boy seemed to pause at this, appraising my expression. My build. My clothes. My brain. Everything about me was suddenly privy to his gaze, and I realized that I had severely underestimated this slightly chubby, space-case boy. “So, yeah. She got an abortion behind his back, they broke up, and he refused to come back to the group.”
There was a small silence, riddled with truths. Truths of Xion's abortion. Truths of the doctors that ripped her baby from her. Of my mother. Of that mason jar filled with flesh in the far corner of the basement. Truths of the name that haunted me every day, plaguing my dreams. The first name on my lips every morning.
Sora.
“Well,” Pence finally mused after nearly an eternity of silence. “I'm sure you have more questions, but we don't really have time. So I'm limiting you to one, then we're getting back to our respective classes, because someone's going to want to take a piss at some point in your class.”
“Ah, right.” Questions. Questions. So many questions. But which to ask? “Why are you friends with Hayner?”
The older boy laughed. “I'll let you figure that out for yourself. It's not something someone can tell you.” And with that he laughed, and I was left alone in a tiled room, defaced by scribbles and scuff marks left behind by nervous peers.
…
After nearly a month in school, my tenth birthday coming and going without much fanfare and my questions remaining unanswered even after Pence's and my talk in the bathroom, it was time for my shot. The entire affair was quick, and practiced enough to be painless. Thankfully, it was carried out in the bathroom instead of the basement. Soon I was by myself, staring into the mirror. My eyes glowed. Before long the blue of processed Mako faded, and I was back to normal, and the usual questions floated around my head. Mostly about the nature of the 'poison' itself. How did they get blue from green? Did they take all the yellow from it? Where did they put the yellow when they were done? Did it go into Xion's bones?
Why did Hayner hate Hybrids so much? Why didn't Demyx rejoin the group after his thing with Xion? Did he know the plan? Did he have anything to do with her mission? Was that why Zexion was spending time with the blond?
A sharp pain in my arm- a Mako clot- and I sighed. A hand reached up to massage it out as more thoughts formed. These of a different nature.
What was kissing like? Or sex? Was I old enough for that kind of thing? If I wasn't, when would I be? When I was twenty physically? When I was twenty I'd be fifteen, which seemed like a good age to start, provided my body didn't make any more age jumps. Who knew? This might have just been the beginning of the aftereffects of that second round of surgery.
The pain didn't go away. Actually, it seemed to increase. I tried to ignore it, rubbing harder, alternating pressure and release.
My thoughts turned to the conversation so long before. Did I like boys or girls? That thought was an odd one. Would I rather kiss Olette or Pence? After a bit a mental weighing of pros and cons, I decided that was a bad comparison. So, I moved on to Xion and Hayner. Which would I rather kiss? Or... kiss me? When I imagined this, something in me clicked and I was very much aware that I'd much rather have someone kiss me. Just the idea was curiously exciting.
The pain in my arm was getting very distracting. Shouldn't the clot be gone by now? It felt like it was swelling, actually. Glancing down, I felt panic rise into my throat. The clot was now twice the side as it had been in the beginning, and glowing a faded blue. My right hand raced to the medicine cabinet, eagerly searching for a some sort of tool that would fix me up. But I had been an idiot and didn't pay attention when Lucrecia versed me in what you did in this situation. Was it to wait and call for help? That couldn't be right. It was swelling fast.
So, I did the only thing I could think of. Shouting my mother's name in a mantra, my throat going sore very quickly, my fingers closed around a pair of hair cutting scissors. I held them delicately in my hand, dragging the sharp side over the lump. Out poured blood and Mako and all sorts of things that should not have occurred in such a short period of time. Pus, lots of pus. An infection had already occurred despite the clot having only been there for minutes. But Mako was known to increase the reaction and formation of cells in high concentration. It was only natural.
Seconds later Lucrecia burst in, taking control of the situation. As she cleaned the wound and wrapped my arm with gauze she kept whispering. Some things I could make out, some I couldn't. She said, “It's okay,” a few times, along with, “You did the right thing. Good boy.” It reassured me enough to the point where I could relax against the sink, breathing heavy. Within minutes I'd blacked out, presumably from blood loss, and from there I can only guess she got one of her assistants to carry me to my room. After than, I know she tucked me in. She always did love nurse corners.
Love,
Besieged Infection
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Character: Roxas
Genre: Sci-Fi/Romance
Rating: T / PG-13
Chapters: 2 / ??
Beta: N/A
Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts rights belong to Square Enix and Disney. This piece of fiction is fan-made and as such I am making no monetary profits off of this
My first day of school should have been eventful, but it wasn't. It turns out the schools don't introduce you like they used to. They threw you into your first day with the expectation that you could handle anything that came at you, be it under their radar or not. It seemed that raising your voice on any matter of this sort of treatment was discouraged. In fact, they seem to value the kids who know how- not when- to shut up. The entire thing was nothing short of a disappointing.
In fact, it was several kinds of disappointing. I'd expected drama and enthusiasm. However, I was met with nothing more than a pile of “Why am I here?” teenagers and middle-aged “Could've been a somebody but I got my teaching license instead and hate my job” men and women going through the motions until Saturday. Then, well, who knew? There's always that sneaking suspicion that your Chem teacher has a thing for shower curtains. And your English teach who has a strange fixation with Urination, and- in your imagination- an affinity for golden showers.
But, enough of that. Don't need any school kids reading this to walk into class tomorrow with a whole new view of their teachers and any possible fetishes they may have. (The teacher with a bible on his desk? He really likes high school girls in latex with whips calling him a bitch. And feet. He really likes feet. Don't ask me how I know this. I just do. And I'm totally talking to you, nerd. Yeah, you. The one with bad grades and religious parents but secretly reads gay porn during lunch in the library at school.)
So, people suck.
Yeah- really don't know how to treat something like this. The whole “mental monologue” thing. Don't know why I'm doing it, especially in gym class. We're playing dodgeball. Just so you know, my ass isn't being handed to me. That was a few minutes ago. My ass is within my possession, seated squarely on the “jail” bench waiting for a “jailbreak.”
When they did shout it, guess what happened?
That's right. I was pelted right in the face. My only consolation is that the other guy is out now, too. Thank God or whatever for penalties.
But then my vision started getting really blurry and they sent me to the nurse's office. Except it was the nurse's day off, so the assistant was there to take care of me. The only thing that really stuck to me about the whole exchange was that his fingers were really, really warm. Uncomfortable warm. Like, “Don't you dare touch me with those ice-cube-toes” in the Winter, except warm and it's Autumn.
So you can imagine my surprise when something happened the next day.
“Hi, I'm Hayner!” The boy in my Chem class, who'd spent the entire hour the day before balancing a pencil on his nose, spoke. It was a surprise that such a talented individual deigned to speak with a mortal such as this, but it happens sometimes. This is such an event.
Sarcasm. It's a gift.
This is the part where you laugh.
Ha-ha.
“I'm Roxas,” I replied, holding out a hand to shake. He stared at it oddly, almost as if in shock. Or something. In fact, he looked like a five-year-old lost in the supermarket. Then, unbidden, an image appeared in my head.
“Where's my Mommy?” little Hayner asked, tugging on my imaginary pant leg and staring up at me with eyes exaggerated to the point where they dominated his face in their own big, blue, adorable way. He was the sort of tiny and cute that left all that looked on completely incapacitated.
After a few awkward seconds, I withdrew my hand. Note to self: Teenagers don't shake hands. In fact, it seems such social dalliances are completely foreign to them. Like homosexuality to that one guy with the 'stash, except they didn't go around cutting off hands wherever they were offered. Otherwise all it would take is one little mistake and whack! There goes your career as an artist. Or a writer. Or whatever. (I personally think accountants would go through the most hell if this ever happened. Voice recognition won't help you now, bitch!)
(I would like to state that none of this mental monologue should be repeated in front of my mother. Please. Dear mother of flying jellyfish, please.)
(Ha-ha. Jellyfish.)
“You're not from around here, are you?” Hayner asked after a tense silence. The teacher droned on in the background about Electrons.
I shrugged. “Lived here all my life, but I've been home-schooled in Uptown Rabenastre since I was four.” Hayner glanced at my other hand, then. (I'm left handed.) He seemed perplexed that I was able to chat and take notes at the same time. As I am Hybrid this isn't much of a stretch. Multitasking comes easy. Wisdom, not so much. Like, I'm good at noticing things- like the tinting at Hayner's eyebrows and the teasing at the hairline- but prepare yourself for some serious lack of social graces in the future.
Like this one. “Are you gay?”
“Wha- no!” He looked insulted. “Are you?”
“Dunno. Never had a relationship before.”
Then he stared. Hayner stared at me for a very long time after I said this. Finally, at the end of the period after the line of conversation had been dropped and I'd burned through a good two pages of my notebook- front to back- in notes, after the bell rang and everyone started filing out and heading toward the lunch room he fixed me with a look. One that read he was curious but fearful. The kind that screamed he was apprehensive and depending on my answer would not hesitate to sock me in the jaw. “Were you coming on to me, shorty?” What did height have to do with anything?
Ignoring the name, I bothered to give him a once-over. Baggy cargos that didn't resemble camouflage despite their attempt at doing so, a tank-top that declared he was trying too hard, vest that didn't suit his face shape, and spiky hair with excessive product. “No.” Oh- and combat boots. Have to admit, those were pretty cool. But they didn't make up for the vest. Sorry, kid.
Should I be calling him kid? I mean, it's my head and all but he is older than me. Not just by a few months or years, but nearly a decade. But this thought was brushed off quickly.
On another note, Hayner appeared disgruntled, and a bit disappointed, but overall satisfied. “In that case, you should meet the others- Pence and Olette.” Odd how he referred to them as “the others” instead of his friends. But when we approached his lunch table about three minutes later I saw why.
There was no room for friendship with the way they were cooing over each other, spooning school pudding into each others' mouths. Cooing noises were exchanged. Dear God, they were the embodiment of the super-couple and I had only just seen them. Who knew what went on behind closed doors.
(I could fancy a guess. Trade offs on who would kiss who first. No sex. Never any sex. And secretly they were so insecure about themselves they couldn't see a relationship with any other person working. They tried, they clung. Then again, they looked like nice enough people. Minus the whole pudding thing. That was kind of weird.)
“Who you got there, Hayner?” the girl asked. Pence or Olette? Probably Pence. Wait for it- the girl's name is totally Pence, just to mess with people.
“Hey, Olette.” And it isn't. Darn. “He just transferred in. We've got Chem together.” Then he jostled my shoulder. “Introduce yourself!” he prompted, then headed off towards the lunch line. I, noticeable, had a bag lunch.
In my defense for what I am about to say, I was trying to make a good first impression. These attempts, no matter who you are, always fail horribly. The seats across the way- which was the established Hybrid table- had reached a sudden crescendo despite how they appeared to usually be so quiet. Instead of, “Nice to meet you, I'm Roxas,” I said, “Hi, I'm human.” I set my lunch on the table and proceeded to mentally tear myself to pieces. “Roxas.” The correction came quickly. “I meant I'm Roxas.” Smooth move, genius. “Sorry about that.”
Olette laughed. “Don't worry about it. You're short, so you probably get that a lot.” Height again? And get what a lot?
Then it hit me, and I felt like an idiot.
They thought because I was short- Hybrid height- I felt the need to point out that I was human.
Not that you hadn't already probably figured that out, but still.
“Yeah,” I improvised. “I do. Becomes a habit, you know?” Lie, lie, lie.
The girl nodded along, and the boy hummed in approval. He then extended his hand, which I took with relief. “I'm Pence,” he greeted. “Though you probably figured that out. Nice to meet you!”
I shook his hand heartily, relieved to see it wasn't something you couldn't do. “Nice to meet you, too.”
When Hayner returned with a tray we all ate in relative silence before heading out into the Quad.
“So,” Pence began as we circled around to an amp-theater-like construction, “what are you planning to do once you graduate?”
Ah. So Pence is one of those smart ones. “Don't know. I'm thinking of doing something like Radiology, but that's about it.” I paused, but then remembered something to do with courtesy. He'd asked me my plans, I ask him for his. “What are you going to do?”
“Convenience store owner.” Come again? “Not much of a career, but my dad owns a chain of family ran and owned convenience stores, and management will be passed on to me eventually.” He grinned shyly, scratching the back of his head with one hand.
I nodded, then turned to the girl. “What about you, Olette?”
“Veterinarian,” she prompted immediately. “I've been helping my uncle for two weeks of every Winter with his dingos down in Australia since I was nine, and it seems like the next logical step.”
The two of us nodded along, but Hayner remained silent by my side. Something charged the atmosphere, even after Pence laughed and asked, “So what have you decided on this time, Hayner?” No response.
“Hayner has this habit of changing what he wants to be every week,” Olette mused to me quietly, leaning over the table to whisper into my ear. I bent forward to accommodate her angle. “His record was wanting to be a professional skater for about a month. That was during the Summer before high school- a year and a half ago. Before that it was 'Brain Surgeon.'”
I glanced at the boy, then, and wondered. Was he brilliant, or stupid? Was he painfully average in the head? I'd known him for about an hour, and already I was curious. Unfortunately, none of this curiosity was satisfied. The rest of the lunch period passed without the boy opening his mouth once, and I didn't see the three in any of my other classes.
But as I left the school after the final bell, I spotted someone familiar out of the corner of my eye. Xion. She was laughing with a bunch of friends, her eyes glittering with some sort of glee, concealing the sorrow I knew someone could find if they looked hard enough. “Sora,” she had said. It was as if it was her lifeline, and it had been ripped right out of her grasp.
I moved to go near her, drawn in by some invisible force, but something stopped me. Although I'd like to say it was a sense of duty to let her live free and develop on her own without help, it was a physical force.
Hayner stood beside me, a strong hand grasping my upper arm. “No,” he said, head shaking a negative. “I'm going to say this once, and only once. Don't go near her.” There was a part of me that whispered that he had caught onto the plan on some subconscious level. He knew she was going to bring about his end, be it directly or indirectly. But something bigger told me I was being paranoid. They had history somewhere in the past where I wasn't concerned and should never be involved with.
When my eyes raced back to their previous subject, they met another pair. They was impossibly blue, with highlights of periwinkle and navy. This pair was sad, and Xion seemed to apologize, shaking her head as if to tell me, “We can't know each other here.”
And I knew she was right in every way.
...
That night we had a guest. He arrived shortly after I got home. Four knocks announced his arrival, timed to make a sort of metronome in their delivery. It was as if the person was a professional, hitting the door in perfectly-spaced increments with the same combination of speed and pressure. But they didn't have professional door-knockers so I brushed the idea off. Instead, I opened the door. There a boy stood, a good two inches taller than me. Ears, pointy and soft in appearance. Catlike. A light dusting of gray fur darkened the exposed parts of his skin- face, neck, arms, wrists and hands. His tail flicked back and forth, almost nervously, as he stood in the doorway, standing with one hand casually flung to the side of a messenger bag, keeping it still.
“Is Lucrecia at home?” he asked, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. Every movement was made with obvious mental deliberation as his hand tightened on the bag to compensate for the jostling. The muffled clinking of wrapped glass shuffled from the fabric. It played in my ears as I mentally connected the dots. The Mako from the basement had to get here somehow.
“Yeah,” I mused, ushering the boy into the living room. “You must be the new delivery boy.” The boy nodded, all nerves and meekness. My feet carried me to the basement door, and I knocked four times. Evenly spaced, with the same amount of speed and pressure each time. Without intending to, I'd copied the older boy's knocking pattern. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him flinch, obviously wondering if this was protocol. In all honesty, I had no idea. But I wasn't going to tell the poor guy that.
“Yes?” a voice called.
“Someone's here to see you.”
A bit of shuffling, then footsteps. I backed away from the door as my mother stepped out, accompanied by a tall Hybrid man, the skin of his head spiking upwards and back into some sort of pattern, falling about his face much like hair. Mentally, I cross-referenced the traits. Part hippopotamus, part skunk, and part human. I'd hate to see what his back looked like.
“Go downstairs, honey,” Lucrecia ordered. Being the good little boy I am, I followed directions. There in the basement I saw Xion and the redhead in much the same situation I had left them months before. Only this time Xion was asleep. The other girl looked up at me, sparing a smile. “You must be Roxas,” she sighed. “I'm Kairi, Xion's sister.” My head bobbed in confirmation, but my head whirled. Her lips told one story, her face told another. One that didn't speak of siblings and family, but of love and... that one thing people do in bed. Sex or something.
I'm nine. Don't expect me to know everything. Fetishes I know about. We have cable. Sex, not so much. Not to say I'm not curious, what with all these new hormones circulating as such.
“Nice to meet you, Kairi,” I replied, ever polite. On the approach to the bed, I made sure to banish any wary expressions. They were teenagers, but were doing adult things. Getting ahead of themselves, like I was with school. But then, they were probably just curious.
But Xion had been pregnant so that excuse wasn't going to fly.
It was then that I stopped that train of thought. They were older, so they knew what they were doing.
Probably.
“Do you know what they're talking about upstairs?” I asked, knowing full-well she might not have an answer.
She grinned. “They're passing off a failed mission to our friend Zexion. That's all I can really say.”
My eyes bugged. Something in my gut twisted, and my heart began to flutter. “That was Zexion?” I gaped, curious. The adults sometimes spoke of the Hybrid- mostly in hushed tones when they thought no one was listening. The Cloaked Schemer, they called him. All full of plans and ways to put them into action without any humans being the wiser. A master of weaving illusions without any of the complicated gimmicks or tricks that AVALANCHE had been getting all too familiar with.
Even as a teenager he was key to the operation, but from what I had seen upstairs- a boy aware of only insignificance- he didn't know it.
…
That night I dreamed of Sora. At first this meant big blue eyes, brown hair cut like his mom's, but messier. Baby cheeks, diapers, crying, and then laughter. Baby's laughter, cute and sweet and innocent.
Then it meant the fetus, cooped up in the mason jar in the corner of the basement. Xion, crying, curled in a ball, screaming for her baby.
Sora. Sora. Sora.
I woke up with the voice a whisper on my lips, like every other night.
…
A good two weeks later, I spotted Zexion at school.
At first I thought I was seeing things. He couldn't really go to my school, could he? Shouldn't he be home-schooled, where his genius can shine and develop fully into some sort of butterfly-thing? Or something else not quite as girly?
But there he was, out on the lawn at lunch sitting with some guy. Spiky blond hair, lithe, carrying a camera, sort of tanned, human. The usual.
Wait, what?
My brain stalled at the final bit of information it was offered. Zexion was hanging out with a human, which was not only counterproductive, but slightly hypocritical. Something didn't quite fit, and at the same time they looked completely comfortable with one another. But the way they interacted was nothing short of easy friendship, bordering on romantic. The only expression I'd seen on Zexion's face prior to that moment was accepting unease. Now, that may have been for about ten seconds, but the fact remains that a smile did not belong there on a regular basis. And that's what he had. A smile to rival all smiles.
And this blond had prompted it. (Nothing against blonds of course. I'm blond, as well. We're a lot smarter than people seem to think. It's just that there are people who make any social group look bad, and ours tend to be an exaggerated form of the stereotype.)
“Hey.”
“GRAH!” I freaked. When one stalls in a hallway zoning out, staring into space and obviously on some other planet, the last thing they expect- despite how television, real life experience, and novels have tried to educate us otherwise- is for someone to walk up behind them and speak. The result was something between heart failure and a panic attack.
Hayner grimaced. “Dude, calm down. It's not like I...” He trailed off, trying to find an expression or situation of great horror to share and make my current state look like a walk in the park. However, the boy seemed to have fallen short on such a speech, and simply stood there looking stupid for a second. “I got nothin'.”
“Nice to know.” Cue awkward silence, only it wasn't actually awkward. Well, it was. For him. Because the teenage mind tends to over-dramatize everything, making any good situation a fantastic day-maker and anything embarrassing was by default the end of the world.
Peering outside the window behind me, Hayner grimaced. “What are you looking at?”
“Huh? Oh.” I followed his gaze to the pair on the grass just beyond the sill. “Nothing, really. Just stuck in a stare.” When I finished saying this and his expression melted away into something normal, I became aware of just how much animosity was there. It was both impressive and disturbing.
“C'mon,” he prompted. “Let's go. The others are waiting.”
When we finally got to the table Hayner left to get his lunch and Olette rounded on me. “So when are you going to tell him?”
I blinked. “Tell who what?”
She giggled. “Tell Hayner that you like him, silly! I've seen the way you trail after him.”
“That's...” I paused. “Creepy. To say the least.”
Pence sighed. “Tell me about it.”
Olette blinked. “What?”
Patting the girl's shoulder, the chubby teen attempted a consoling tone. “Olette, we don't even know if he swings that way.”
She huffed. “Of course he does! He had that thing for Demyx for the longest time!”
“No- not Hayner. Roxas.”
There was a short period of time in which no words were exchanged. An awkward silence, if you will, only it seemed centered around Olette this time. I seemed to be graced with unusual quantities of luck, having not been the victim in this embarrassing-silence-rich day. Then Hayner walked up with his lunch and things got even worse, because we couldn't continue and hope to dispel the misunderstanding with a bit of talking or something like that. Because it was silence, and it was awkward. Like an upside-down turtle in the middle of a cassette store. Or like really out of place laughter in a funeral.
And so, no one stopped Hayner when he went off in some direction with his speech, fumbling over the words like no tomorrow and making a fool of himself several times.
Okay, I lie. He actually had homework he hadn't finished the night before and we all sat quiet with the uncomfortable lack of speech that comes with girls trying to hook up guys she doesn't know whether or not are gay. Because, frankly, I'm too young for this shit.
…
Sometime during sixth period, I ran into Pence in the bathroom. We gave the traditional friendly smile, but made sure not to make eye contact while we used the John.
“So,” he began, meaning he was breaking one tradition you never break. Talking while peeing. “I recommend not telling Hayner you're a Hybrid.”
This earned another broken tradition- eye contact. Or an attempt at it, because the guy was so much taller than me. “What-”
“You made it pretty obvious,” he supplied courteously, much to my despair. “The whole 'human' slip when we met, your height, the way you carry yourself- but there's one thing I can't quite pin.” Eye contact obtained. “Do you really have a crush on Hayner?”
“No.” Automatic. Necessary. So, so necessary. My cover was blown. Dear lord, my cover was blown, and so quickly.
“Ah, well, that's good.” He finished up, put himself away, and backed himself up to the wall. “He doesn't have the greatest tolerance towards the existence of Hybrids. I mean, he's been doing better for a few months now that his anger's been directed at Demyx, but... Usually he's what we'd call an 'extremist.'”
It was strange, to say the least. Very different from the average reaction to Hybrids that I've heard from people coming into the house. It was why I'd taken the public separation of the two species in stride. There would occasionally be someone calling one a freak, or some sort of equivalent, but generally I didn't see much abuse. Mainly because I didn't share any come into contact with any. Hayner, once or twice, muttered a curse under his breath as we passed one in the hallway on the way to lunch, but there wasn't much beyond that. “How come you're so tolerant?”
“Grew up in Australia with Olette. Racism isn't all that rampant there.”
Questions, so many questions, popped to mind. “Why'd you come to the mainland?”
“Well,” he mused, “the usual. Our parents wanted us to experience the world as it is. See what it has to offer.”
“So you're siblings?”
Pence blinked. “No. We're cousins.”
“Oh.”
“But we are in an arranged marriage.”
I moved to turn around, utterly shocked, but remembered just why I was at a urinal. I finished up, put the stool away, and managed to sputter, “Seriously? But you're cousins!”
“Doesn't matter,” he replied, ever infuriatingly calm. “Give us enough time. We'll fall in love.”
There was a short silence before I addressed another question. “What's the worst Hayner's done?”
Silence. Then Pence sighed, leaning heavier against the wall. He shifted once, then again before pushing away from the tiles and taking a seat on one of the stools for shorter students. (Yes, I was using one. Shut up.) “About a year ago ago he lynched this guy named Zack. Poor kid didn't even see it coming. Our friend Demyx took the fall for him since Hayner was on the brink of expulsion at the time. Now, it wasn't much of a fall, if you ask me. Senator's son lynching a Hybrid? Got off with a warning.” He shrugged. “Then the guy fell for this girl, and they got together. A few months later she got pregnant, and word got out she was a Hybrid.”
“Xion.”
“Yeah- you know her?”
“Vaguely.”
The boy seemed to pause at this, appraising my expression. My build. My clothes. My brain. Everything about me was suddenly privy to his gaze, and I realized that I had severely underestimated this slightly chubby, space-case boy. “So, yeah. She got an abortion behind his back, they broke up, and he refused to come back to the group.”
There was a small silence, riddled with truths. Truths of Xion's abortion. Truths of the doctors that ripped her baby from her. Of my mother. Of that mason jar filled with flesh in the far corner of the basement. Truths of the name that haunted me every day, plaguing my dreams. The first name on my lips every morning.
Sora.
“Well,” Pence finally mused after nearly an eternity of silence. “I'm sure you have more questions, but we don't really have time. So I'm limiting you to one, then we're getting back to our respective classes, because someone's going to want to take a piss at some point in your class.”
“Ah, right.” Questions. Questions. So many questions. But which to ask? “Why are you friends with Hayner?”
The older boy laughed. “I'll let you figure that out for yourself. It's not something someone can tell you.” And with that he laughed, and I was left alone in a tiled room, defaced by scribbles and scuff marks left behind by nervous peers.
…
After nearly a month in school, my tenth birthday coming and going without much fanfare and my questions remaining unanswered even after Pence's and my talk in the bathroom, it was time for my shot. The entire affair was quick, and practiced enough to be painless. Thankfully, it was carried out in the bathroom instead of the basement. Soon I was by myself, staring into the mirror. My eyes glowed. Before long the blue of processed Mako faded, and I was back to normal, and the usual questions floated around my head. Mostly about the nature of the 'poison' itself. How did they get blue from green? Did they take all the yellow from it? Where did they put the yellow when they were done? Did it go into Xion's bones?
Why did Hayner hate Hybrids so much? Why didn't Demyx rejoin the group after his thing with Xion? Did he know the plan? Did he have anything to do with her mission? Was that why Zexion was spending time with the blond?
A sharp pain in my arm- a Mako clot- and I sighed. A hand reached up to massage it out as more thoughts formed. These of a different nature.
What was kissing like? Or sex? Was I old enough for that kind of thing? If I wasn't, when would I be? When I was twenty physically? When I was twenty I'd be fifteen, which seemed like a good age to start, provided my body didn't make any more age jumps. Who knew? This might have just been the beginning of the aftereffects of that second round of surgery.
The pain didn't go away. Actually, it seemed to increase. I tried to ignore it, rubbing harder, alternating pressure and release.
My thoughts turned to the conversation so long before. Did I like boys or girls? That thought was an odd one. Would I rather kiss Olette or Pence? After a bit a mental weighing of pros and cons, I decided that was a bad comparison. So, I moved on to Xion and Hayner. Which would I rather kiss? Or... kiss me? When I imagined this, something in me clicked and I was very much aware that I'd much rather have someone kiss me. Just the idea was curiously exciting.
The pain in my arm was getting very distracting. Shouldn't the clot be gone by now? It felt like it was swelling, actually. Glancing down, I felt panic rise into my throat. The clot was now twice the side as it had been in the beginning, and glowing a faded blue. My right hand raced to the medicine cabinet, eagerly searching for a some sort of tool that would fix me up. But I had been an idiot and didn't pay attention when Lucrecia versed me in what you did in this situation. Was it to wait and call for help? That couldn't be right. It was swelling fast.
So, I did the only thing I could think of. Shouting my mother's name in a mantra, my throat going sore very quickly, my fingers closed around a pair of hair cutting scissors. I held them delicately in my hand, dragging the sharp side over the lump. Out poured blood and Mako and all sorts of things that should not have occurred in such a short period of time. Pus, lots of pus. An infection had already occurred despite the clot having only been there for minutes. But Mako was known to increase the reaction and formation of cells in high concentration. It was only natural.
Seconds later Lucrecia burst in, taking control of the situation. As she cleaned the wound and wrapped my arm with gauze she kept whispering. Some things I could make out, some I couldn't. She said, “It's okay,” a few times, along with, “You did the right thing. Good boy.” It reassured me enough to the point where I could relax against the sink, breathing heavy. Within minutes I'd blacked out, presumably from blood loss, and from there I can only guess she got one of her assistants to carry me to my room. After than, I know she tucked me in. She always did love nurse corners.
Love,
Besieged Infection