A/N: I don't know what to say in this little note thing. Oh! I know! This fic will most likely be a very long fic. At least, I want it to be very long. We're talking, 15-20 chapters. But, who knows? It's me, and I'm usually bad about that. But, I am making it required of myself to have at least 5000 words per chapter. And I'm going to try to update once a week. Maybe every Monday? I don't know yet, we'll see how things go. (I'll try really, really hard to not procrastinate this fic, like I tend to do sometimes, kay?)
Anyway, I hope you enjoy the first chapter of what will hopefully be a much longer story.
Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts or any other random references I make to things in today's society (bands, songs, movies, Bill Gates).
Pandora's Box
Chapter One: Tea Time
My name is Demyx, just Demyx, thank you very much. I'm writing this story about a time in my life when I had some serious doubts about my survival. I thought I would die of a broken heart, or maybe at my own hand. I'm writing this because it might be important to someone, maybe someone going through the same thing I went through, I'm not really sure. All I really know it that I've been asked to write this by someone very close to me. And, well, to be cliché, I'm completely whipped.
Anyway, here I am. Nineteen years old and living alone in a small loft apartment. The nicest and most expensive thing I own is the Sony laptop I'm typing this on. I'm writing a story about the most horrible time in my life. The time that I thought I would actually die from all the pain and heartache. And I'm doing it with a smile.
Understand one thing before I proceed. I'm really not looking forward to writing this. I don't want to relive that time, I do it enough the way it is. But Zexion has been trying to convince me to write this for months. I ignored him for a long time, but as I said, I'm pretty whipped. So it really was only a matter of time before I gave in.
Another thing before the beginning really begins. I've taken some liberties in regard to the thoughts and feelings of other people. Some of the details I learned later, but some of them I'm just guessing at. That's the real problem with first person narrative. You only get one true side of the story. But I suppose that makes it more real, doesn't it? Because in life, don't we only ever really see one side?
This story really starts when I was about six. That was when I had my first crush, and it was on a boy. I didn't understand that there was anything strange about it. I didn't know anything about the world. And I was a shy, reclusive child by nature and so no one, not even my parents, ever found out.
In hindsight, I almost wish someone had found out. Maybe things would have been different.
I'm not going to start there, though, I'm going to skim over the face of time some, I don't want to bore you with the details of my early childhood. Instead I'm going to move to when things really started to go to hell in a hand basket.
I was thirteen years old when Zexion and his marginally insane mother moved into the apartment below mine. I don't know if I would call our first meeting love at first sight, definitely not on his part anyway. But I was entranced by him, to a degree (mostly the hair, I'm a hair guy), and we were quick to make friends. Once we got past his stiff upper lip, English sense of things anyway.
As soon as my mom saw the moving truck pull in she started to get excited. It was the sort of thing she lived for, only it was up to me to introduce us both to the new neighbors. You'd think a mother would be gentle with a very shy child when asking them to speak to new people, wouldn't you? But my mother wasn't that type of person. Instead of giving me a pep talk or some sort of comfort, she just shoved me out the front door with a smile and a wave.
The idea of walking down the stairs to introduce myself to new people was terrifying. But my mother was, and probably always will be a very scary person when she's ignored. And the thought of pissing her off was scarier even than meeting new people.
I went down the stairs one at a time, hands shoved deep in my pockets and my head hung. In the five seconds it took to get down the stairs I formulated an idea of what my new neighbors must be like. The image I made of them had me nearly trembling by the time I got to the large van.
A blonde woman greeted me as she climbed out of the van. She wore a very business woman looking skirt that showed her curves but not in an erotic way. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun with two strands sticking up in the front like antennae. The hair accentuated her severe, professional appearance.
She regarded me with a skeptically raised eyebrow, and I can just imagine what she saw; A lanky kid with loose fitting clothes and unkempt blond hair. In comparison to her meticulous orderliness I must have looked homeless or lazy or both.
"Uh ... Hi," my voice wavered though I was doing my best to keep it steady. "My name's Demyx." I muttered. "I live upstairs."
She nodded, her lips stretching into something akin to a smile. "I'm Larxene Michaels," her words were crisp with an accent I had no trouble recognizing. She held her hand out to me, long fingers and manicured nails; I took it and shook it meekly. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
To get off track for a moment, I'd just like to say that I wish I could write the way she spoke phonetically. But, though I've been around that accent for years now, I still can't seem to manage it. The way they seem to drop the '-ure' and make it '-ah.' Morphing 'pleasure' into 'pleasah.' I don't really know, maybe I'm just intrigued by English accents.
I nodded to her, hoping the gesture wasn't as weak as it seemed to feel. "Me too," I murmured.
She craned her neck behind her, retracting her hand. "Zexion, come here."
My eyes drifted to the apartment door, which stood open, as Zexion stepped over the threshold and I saw him for the first time. You could see the man he was to become on his features, and my first thought was that he must be older than me. As I already said, it wasn't really love at first sight, but his hair caught my attention and my fascination. It was and is a strange shade of periwinkle, and though I wasn't sure it was natural, I couldn't help but think it was beautiful.
He didn't smile as he approached, and that drew my attention from his hair. The unfriendly demeanor he carried himself with made me forget his hair and remember my fear. "Yes, mum?" He spoke with the same accent as his mother, and if this surprised me, I'm not sure why.
"Zexion, this is Demyx, from upstairs." She stepped away from us and went around to the back of the van. "Why don't you go and introduce yourself to his family? Maybe invite them over for tea tomorrow. I'll get started here."
Zexion nodded, hair waving around his face. "Alright mum." He didn't seem very happy about the idea, in fact, he seemed almost pissed. "Your name is Demyx?"
I nodded, wondering his age and whether or not he was curious about mine. "And you're Zexion," I tried to parrot the accent when I said his name but it didn't sound right (and still doesn't when I try.)
A small smile slipped onto his face and he nodded. "I am."
I smiled, turning towards the stairs. "What school are you going to?"
I suppose I should take another moment away from the story to explain the relevance of this question. We live in a very religious (mostly Catholic) area, and most of the schools are semi-private catholic ones. So, that I was asking a neighbor what school they'd be going to really wasn't odd at all because the schools didn't have actual districts.
"St. Mary's."
I was a little taken aback by his answer. St. Mary's was my school. The school I'd always went to and the school all my friends went to. (I'd later think of him going there as divine intervention or a hellish curse, depending on how things were going.)
"What grade are you in?"
He thought for a moment, I wasn't sure what about but he told me later that he'd seriously considered telling me to 'bugger off' (English equivalent of 'fuck off.') "I'll be a freshman," he finally said, brushing his strangely beautiful hair out of his eyes.
I don't really know why I was skeptical of his answer, but I was. I thought, maybe he was only saying that to answer my question. I didn't really get the chance to talk to him anymore about it, however, because it doesn't really take that long to climb a flight of stairs and get to a door.
"This is me," I muttered, pushing the door open. "Mom?"
If I thought, for even a moment, that my mother wouldn't be standing somewhere near the door, I was very mistaken. She was standing just by the window, peering out it.
"Hmm?" She said with a bright smile.
"This is .. uh … This is Zexion." I'm not sure why (and I likely never will be), but I was more shy around my own mother at that moment than I had been around Zexion.
Smiling, my mother extended her hand to Zexion. "Hello. I'm Demyx's mother, Ms. LaSalle."
Up until this point, I hadn't mentioned to Zexion that I was, technically, French. And I hadn't intended to from the moment I heard his accent. But my mother hadn't heard him speak, and thus knew not what she was doing.
Zexion, however, kept a cool face. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
I saw my mother's expression drop. She still harbored ill-will towards the English that many France natives held. (Though I never really understood it myself.)
"Uh … Hey, Zexion, do you like music?"
I said the first thing that came into my mouth. It was just too much for me to stand there and watch them stare each other down. And music was my only real comfort, the only thing I felt perfectly fine doing. I never worried about the way other people took the music I listened to or tried to play myself.
Luckily Zexion also liked music. And was also eager to escape my mother's near glare. He nodded. "What sort of music?"
"Uhm … Let me show you." I took him by the hand without thinking about it and pulled him into my room. (Later I'd reflect on how comfortable I felt around him and how strangely divine that was.)
My room was small and not very orderly. Band posters of all sorts covered what wall space I had. And I'd filled the floor not taken up by my bed and dresser with random bits of musical items. My guitar stood in one corner gleaming prettily under the light of the center bulb.
His eyes scanned the walls and I saw little recognition behind them. "I've never heard of most of these bands," he said, eyes resting on my guitar. "Do you play that?"
I followed his eyes, a small blush creeping across my cheeks. "Yeah … Not very well though …"
He nodded, not saying anything else on that subject. "I don't listen to many foreign bands," a small pause. "Well, I suppose technically I do. After all, this is America and all I listen to is English."
I smiled, feeling any last shred of anxiety melting away. "I listen to a few English bands," I said. "The Rolling Stones, the Clash …"
"Overrated," he raised a hand to silence me, it was a gesture I would come to love. "The Clash, that is. Not so much the Stones."
My smile faded away into something akin to annoyance I'm sure. Even then, I didn't particularly like being cold shouldered, and I felt that's what he was trying to do (later he confirmed this, and with a smile!) "Well, there are tons of better bands than those."
He nodded, eyes still scanning my room. "I'd ask you two over for tea like my mum told me to, but I don't think your mum would be interested."
I shook my head, wanting, for some reason, to go anyway. "She's not really as bias against the English as she may seem. I mean, she was born in France but she didn't grow up there, and I've never even been there. So …" I closed my mouth. I was rambling, and he wore the most amused looking expression I think I'd ever seen.
He shrugged. "Okay, I'll ask."
I smiled then, happy that my rant hadn't apparently annoyed him. He was interesting to me, right from the start, and the thought that he might not want to spend any more time with me hurt. Even then. I didn't understand it, and wouldn't for a while, but it was the beginning of love.
He went to my bed and picked up a leather bound journal from beside the pillow. The leather was black, but I'd stuck a rainbow sticker to it for color (that's what I told my mom anyway.) He had it open and was undoubtedly reading it before I realized what he'd picked up.
"Hey!" I launched across the room and wrenched the journal from his pale, slender hands. "Sorry … It's … uh … Private …" I snapped it closed and shoved it under my pillow.
"Y'know," I muttered, feeling the blush on my face. "I thought English people were polite by default."
"Yes, well, that's a common misconception." He smiled as he said it and crossed his arms over his chest. "I should probably go, however. I ought to help mum unload."
I nodded a little, willing the blush to recede. "Want me to walk you?" It was an odd offer, and I didn't understand the romantic advance hidden in the words. Probably because I was, and still am, hopelessly naïve.
He laughed quietly. "No, I think I can manage, thanks." He crossed the room with a graceful swagger I'd never be able to reproduce, not even if I had all eternity to do so. "I'll see you later, Demyx."
He waved a hand over his shoulder as he left the room. I stood there, not saying anything, not moving, and scarcely thinking. I could hear him ask my mother over for tea and I could hear her forced yes.
You see, I'd lied to him when I told him my mother wasn't biased against the English. Because she was. She didn't use to be, in fact, she married an Englishman. But when my father died she blamed him and his nation. (More on that subject later.)
I didn't blame him or anyone else, though. I just numbed myself whenever I thought of him.
But the fact that she had said yes broke through my stillness. And as soon as I heard the front door open and close I sprang to my guitar and pulled it into my arms. I ran my fingers down the strings, loving the gentle sound of my cheap acoustic guitar.
I've always been a music nut. For as long as I can remember I've been able to pick up any instrument and play it. My voice, I've been told, is melodious and beautiful (Zexion is standing behind me, pointing at the screen and telling me to 'use some of that fancy prose when you describe yourself.') But, until I was much older, I didn't have the chance to explore the possibility of a career in music.
My guitar was one of the ways I channeled my emotions, the strong, powerful ones I couldn't write in my journal. When such an emotion gripped me, I'd pick up my guitar and play the cords as they came to me.
This time they were soft, escalating to rapid, loud cords and falling back again. They melded together in a contrastingly beautiful way that captured my tumultuous feelings perfectly. My eyes closed to the sound and I rocked back and forth with the music. Feeling it flood through me, coursing through my veins like blood. Like something vital and need and longed for.
"Where's that coming from?" My mother's voice sliced through my concentration and my fingers missed the strings.
The melody was lost before I could finish it, which guaranteed I'd likely never rediscover it.
My mother supported my music. So enthusiastically that it was really very annoying. Any time she heard me playing she'd come in and ask me about it. Usually that would make me loose my focus, and in turn, I'd loose the notes.
I stared up at her, strands of hair falling into my face and obscuring my vision. "Huh?"
She smiled. "That was different from anything I've ever heard you play. Where'd the inspiration come from?"
In hindsight, I can remember seeing the first thin traces of suspicion in her eyes. I didn't notice it then, and that was likely because I hadn't yet realized there was any unusual emotions between Zexion and myself. I should have been more observant. I wish I'd been more observant.
Instead of being cautious with my answer I just shrugged. "I dunno," I said, shoving my hair out of my eyes and laying the guitar aside. "Maybe it was from meeting new people?"
She nodded, and I think she really believed my answer. Probably because it wasn't really a lie or an excuse or anything. It was the way I explained the music to myself. The best way I knew how to explain that sudden flux of emotion.
"What do you think about having tea with them tomorrow?" She leaned against me doorway, arms crossed over her chest.
I shrugged. "Could be fun. If we don't have to do any crazy English things." I smiled as I mildly bashed the English, mom loved it though.
"I don't think we'll have to eat 'crumpets' or anything." She said with a small laugh.
I plopped down onto my bed, grinning from ear to ear. I love my mom, even though she's crazy and close minded. I'll always love her, regardless of what she says or does. Maybe I'm too forgiving, maybe I'm too nice, I don't really know. I just know that at times like that, when we sat together (I sat, she stood) and laughed are times that I'll never forget, and I don't ever want to forget them.
"What time is 'tea time?'"
She shrugged. "We're supposed to be there around four," she winked. "I think being a few minutes late is warranted."
I laughed again, though the joke, by that time, was wearing thin. "Hey, mom? My school supplies list came today. So … Can I have some money to go buy them?"
Money. Always the cause of concern and hardship in my house. Even when I was asking for something I needed. But I knew, by the expression on her face, that she'd not have a problem with the money. This time. Apparently the last work period had been good to her.
See, my mom worked two jobs for most of my life. One of them a day job at a diner, the other a night job at a different diner. It was hard work, demanding much of her. And I helped whenever I could and got a small job as soon as I was old enough. But it was still tough.
"How much do you need?"
"Oh, I could probably make due with twenty dollars or so."
She shook her head, knowing full-well that it would take over twenty dollars to get everything. "Remind me in the morning, okay?" I nodded. "Did you get your summer homework done?"
I groaned over dramatically, leaning backwards with a hand on my forehead. (Zexion would like to say that my dramatic flare only got worse as I got older.) "I almost have it done, I just have to polish up my essay, and type it."
"Okay, well, get to it." She turned and left the doorway, closing the door behind her.
I rolled off my bed and rifled through some paper for my hand written essay. At St. Mary's, most of the classes were pretty easy. But, if you were part of the handful of students in the honors classes, they got ridiculously difficult and demanding.
Take English for example; you're given a book to read over the summer (usually a long, and boring one). After reading the book, you'd have to write at east a five page essay on it. And it had to be typed.
I didn't have a computer, and wouldn't get one for many years (even though they were common). So the last requirement was difficult for me to follow. Or would have been if I didn't have really good friends (who had computers.)
I picked up the phone and dialed Sora/Roxas' number. The two were twins, as different from each other as night and day. On one hand you have the optimistic, hyperactive Sora, and on the other you have Roxas. Roxas is quite the little trouble maker. Alongside Axel (who happened to later become his boyfriend) they were accountable for over 90 percent of the trouble at our school. And how they were never kicked out, the way Zexion and I were, I'm not sure.
"Yo," the voice was quiet, calm; the voice of Roxas.
"Hey, Roxas, this is Demyx."
"Yeah, I know," he said. "There's this thing called 'called ID.' Kinda takes away all surprise and mystery when answering the phone."
I rolled my eyes but mostly ignored his sarcasm. "Yeah, okay. Hey, can I come by sometime in the next few days and use your computer?"
"English essay?"
"Yeah, have you done it?"
"Nope," I heard something crunch. Probably a carrot. Roxas loves carrots.
"You're not gonna, are you?"
"Oh, I will. Eventually." There was some rustling in the background and a new voice spoke into the phone.
"Hey, Dem. I heard you have new neighbors. Are they cool?" It was Sora, and, as always, he was remarkably well informed.
"Uhm … Yeah, I guess. They're English, so you know how mom's taking it." I muttered, wondering who fed Sora his information. God, it had to be God that did it. (He still, to this day, refuses to tell us who his source is.)
"Oh," I could almost imagine the frown trying to steal over his face. Sora was, at that time, the only person who knew the details of my dad. "But, you've met them already and they're nice?"
Zexion's face flashed into my mind. "Yeah, they're nice, so far as English people go. They invited mom and I over for tea tomorrow."
He giggled and I could all but see him jumping up and down. "They actually do that?"
I sighed. "Yeah, Sora, they do."
Talking to Sora always cheered me up, even when I didn't really need to be cheered up. There was something in Sora's smile and laugh that was infectious. And, regardless of my mood, I always found myself smiling around the kid.
"So, what's this guy really like?"
"Huh?"
He laughed. "You were zoned out again, weren't you, Dem?"
"Yeah, I guess. What'd you say?"
"I asked what the new guy was like."
"Oh, uh … Well, I'm not really sure actually. I mean, I've only talked to him once. And we didn't really get to talk for that long."
"Well, what's your first impression of him?"
That made me think, really think of the way Zexion and I had talked. About how freely I'd been able to speak around him. My easy smile. And lastly, the way his hair fell into his eyes. I'm not really sure why I kept coming back to his hair, but for some reason it captivated me. Made me want to touch it, run my fingers through it …
"It was a good first impression." I nodded, smiling and still not noticing anything odd.
"Awesome!" Their side of the line went silent for a moment, they were plotting together but I didn't know it. When Sora returned he seemed to be filled with renewed hyperactivity.
"So, Dem, think your mom would mind if we came over for a little while?"
I groaned, the last time they'd come over they'd brought their pet ferret, Cyrano. Between the three of them, they really managed to make a mess of things.
"I dunno. Are you bringing the ferret?"
"Eh. Heh. Heh." Sora's giggle this time was mostly fake, and completely forced. "It wasn't his fault. Really. It was mostly Roxas' fault."
Again there were rustling noises in the background. Probably Roxas trying to assert his innocence. (Which was something he couldn't often do, seeing as how he was almost always part of the guilty party.)
"Roxas told me to tell you that he had nothing to do with 'the ferret incident.'"
I laughed at that, couldn't help it really. When the two of them went at it it was either ridiculously funny (at least at the time) or incredibly destructive. Usually it was the latter. And the destruction was almost always at someone else's expense.
"Regardless, I'll have to talk to my mom about it."
"Tell her that we'll clean up any mess we make."
I rolled me eyes. "I doubt that's exactly what she'll want to hear."
"Tell her we miss our best friend and that we really want to see you, and vice versa." It was Roxas then, and I'd lost. Because Roxas could talk anyone into anything. (It didn't surprise anyone when he went into law school.)
"I'll ask her, okay?"
"Yeah. Cool. Call us back when you get the answer," he said. "We'll be on our way so call the cell."
"Okay, but Roxas …"
Dial tone. And why that surprised me, I'm not entirely sure.
I groaned and hung up the phone, resolving to the fact that I had to talk to my mom about the twins coming over. She wouldn't be happy about the idea, I knew that as I opened my door, but I also knew that if I didn't convince her they'd try to sneak in trough a window or something.
"Hey mom?" I let my door swing closed behind me and walked out into the living room. "Can I ask you something?"
She was sitting in the living room, filling out something that looked like a job application. (She was, at the time, looking to get a better paying job.) She looked up at me and smiled, laying her pen aside on the paper.
"Hmm?"
"Uh … Would it be cool if Sora and Roxas came over for a little while?"
One eyebrow twitched, it was almost imperceptible but I'd learned to watch for that tell of anger.
"The last time they came over they nearly got us evicted."
My face fell a little. She remembered what we referred to as 'the ferret incident' and sometimes 'the day which will live in infamy.' But that wasn't surprising, what surprised me was the smile that slowly crawled across her face.
"Are they planning on bringing Cyrano?"
"N-no," I stammered. "I told them not to bring him."
She shrugged and took up the pen again. "So long as they don't make a mess of anything, they can come over for a while."
I grinned, and if my mother and I were closer I would have hugged her then. But we've never been that close, and we probably never will be.
"Thanks!" I ran back into my room and grabbed the phone. I dialed Sora's cell phone number from memory and waited.
Sora never answered, however. But Roxas did. "Yo. Take it your mom said yes."
"This is Sora's phone, right?"
"Yeah. Your point?"
"Oh, nothing …"
"We'll be there in about ten minutes."
"You really don't care if my mom said no, do you?"
"Nope. But you're not squawking at me if she did, so I figure she said yes."
"I don't squawk."
"Yes you do."
Okay, so maybe I do squawk from time to time. But not as often as he'd like to make it seem.
"Why do you guys want to come over anyway?" I decided a change in subject was probably my best course of action.
"You have a new neighbor, Demyx," he said, and I can still imagine the devilish grin that must have been on his face. "We need to meet him."
A/N: Well, here you are, the first chapter of Pandora's Box. This took me a while to finish, sort of. I wrote most of it at school, during class, when I probably should have been paying attention to the lesson or whatever. But, I also actually did some of it at home. And, it's all in a notebook, which sort of sucked. Because, according to the notebook, it's twenty three pages long. And, believe you me, that's a lot of typing to have to do.
But, anyway. I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. And, I hope you stick around and read the rest of this, though it will probably take me a while to get it finished. This fic is sort of a self challenge, y'know? I want to see if I'm capable.
Well, you should review this. It makes me happy and knowing I have fans will give me incentive to work faster.