Notes: I will warn you now that this story is not the happiest story in the world. In fact, it's down right dark. It's based very, very loosely on a Dean Koontz book (and if you can figure out which one it is, I'll be impressed) and something that one of my friends is going through. I haven't quite decided whether I should continue it or not, so let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon. Obviously. If I did, it wouldn't be suitable for children under the age of 17.

Untouched and Alive

By Kristin (Rzrblade33)

"Ishida Yamato, untouched and alive."

The hallway is silent, except of course for my feet padding slowly up the stairs. Truth be told, I am in no hurry to get home.

I'm late, horribly late. My band practice took a little longer than I'd expected. It wasn't my fault. I have no control over time. That doesn't matter though. My father doesn't care whose fault it was. I am going to be in serious trouble.

"Ishida Yamato, untouched and alive."

I realize I've said that phrase countless times already. I'll probably say it a few more times before the night's over. It's amazing how five little words can make one person feel so much better.

But are they really just five little words? Maybe at one time they were. They might've been the first time that I said them. I can't remember though. That was so long ago, before the divorce even. But now they're not just five little words. They're a plea, a prayer. An unoriginal prayer but a prayer nonetheless.

It's strange. I know it'll never be answered but yet I say it anyway. So why do I say it? Who knows. It gives me hope, I guess.

Only a few more stairs until I get to our apartment. Dammit. When did the trip up those stairs get so short? It used to seem like hours before I got home.

Home? Is that really what it is? Isn't home where the heart is? My heart sure as hell isn't here. I'm pretty sure that it's lying in a ditch somewhere, bruised, beaten, and violated. Sometimes I'm not even sure if I have a heart at all. So if I have no heart, I have no home. Is that how it goes?

No matter though. Home or not, it's still right in front of me. And I have to go in.

Should I say it again? I've already established that it's a stupid thing to say. Still, I do feel a bit more confident after I say it.

"Ishida Yamato, untouched and alive."

With a sigh, I unlock the door and go inside.

It's cold inside, which is strange. The apartment is almost always warm. Maybe it's just my imagination.

I head to my room first to drop my stuff off. I notice idly that there were bits of broken glass on the floor, probably the remains of the bottle I vaguely remember dropping the night before.

"Where the hell were you?"

I jerk around quickly to see my father glaring down at me, eyes burning wildly.

"I…I had band practice. Remember? We practiced just a bit longer than I anticipated." My voice is shaking and I find myself backing away. "I…I'm sorry. I just…"

"Sorry? You're always sorry, you worthless little shit!"

"Dad, please…"

Suddenly I'm thrown across the floor. I feel my shoulder pop out of place and let out a small yelp at the pain.

"Don't you interrupt me," he says, standing above me. His voice is dangerously quiet. "You are goddamn lucky that I haven't thrown you out of this house. All you ever do is disobey me."

"I don't mean to," I whimper.

"Oh shut up, you miserable maggot." He kicks me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. "If you ever do this again, I can guarantee you it will hurt a hell of a lot worse."

I listen to him storm out of my room and into his own, slamming the door in the process, and close my eyes, determined not to let myself cry. He won't break me. I won't let him, no matter what he does to me.

My head is pounding, my stomach is burning, and my shoulder is throbbing.

Well, I may not be untouched but at least I'm alive.