What Does Not Kill You

Birth

Roxas Heart was perfect in every way. Perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect lips, perfect eyes, perfect nails, toes, fingers, and a perfect nose. He was perfecty made and could grab a finger pointed in his direction. He was a perfect little child of the Heart Family and soon followed by another perfect bundle deemed Sora, who came out a perfect 10 minutes later then him.

Age Six

Roxas Heart was perfect in every way. Perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect skin, perfect lips, perfect eyes, perfect nails, toes, fingers, and a perfect nose. He could count by twos and tie his shoes. He brushed his teeth ten times a day, and brushed his hair in a way so no strand was left untouched. Ten strokes of the brush, and when he walked he counted his steps and when he touched things he would wash his hands. So he did not touch things often. His twin Sora was perfect as well, but played in the mud and wrestled with the other boys. He was never clean, but Roxas loved him anyway. Because Sora always loved Roxas, no matter what.

Age Ten

Roxas Heart was perfect in every way. Perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect skin, perfect lips, perfect eyes, perfect nails, toes, fingers, and a perfect nose. He did not hold his mothers hand as they walked into the doctors office. He felt at comfort in this sterile place, but uneasy at the sharp instruments. 'No germs.' He thought. His paradise. Roxas was not like other children. He did not ever get dirty, he was perfectly organized, and had many fears; to many. He was petrified of the dark, thunder, lightening, snakes, spiders, loud noises, needles, itching, dirt, germs, heights, crowds, bald people, being touched, glowing eyes, failure, flying, imperfection, animals, and most of all insanity and chaos. He was diagnosed as an Obsessive Compulsive and handed over to a counselor who gave him a puzzle which he organized perfectly and was able to do within minutes. He hated disorder, he feared chaos.

Age Sixteen

Roxas Heart was perfect in every way. Perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect skin, perfect lips, perfect eyes, perfect nails, toes, fingers, and a perfect nose. He went to school with his twin brother Sora and eccelled in studies while his brother eccelled in popularity and sports such as soccer and baseball. Sora was popular, and Roxas was a loner. He didn't like being around people anyway. He hated the germs they could potentially bring. He scrubbed his hands raw for the fifth time that day and looked at himself in the mirror. Perfect skin, not a blemish to be seen. Perfect teeth, no cavities, or crookedness. His blonde locks not a hair out of place. He had to be the picture of perfection, for if he wasn't then he wouldn't be in order, he would be in disaster. He touched the sink and wiped his hand on the sterile napkins he carried around.

He walked out the door.

That wasn't right.

He walked back and walked through it again.

Still not correct.

He turned and walked through it again.

That was perfect.

He walked out into the hall, and nearly went into a panic attack. People surrounded him, trying to touch him. He felt the need to scrub himself until he bled out the germs that surrounded him. He was okay, he took a deep breath and counted to ten, his favorite number. He could do this, what didn't kill him made him stronger. 'What doesn't kill me makes me stronger, I am okay.' He thought to himself as he adjusted the slight wrinkle in his shirt, and to his pleasure it dissapeared. The world was chaos but he was order. He was perfect.

He waited until the halls cleared and he counted his steps as he walked to his classroom. Ninety Nine steps. He was almost a foot away from his desk as he stood wondering what he could do. Either he could do one big step to make one hundred, or eleven small ones to make 110. The thought of stepping only eleven times made him cringe. He went for the big step and the others stared at him strangely and Sora gave him a slight comforting smile as Riku sunk low in his seat beside the brunette. Roxas gave an even smile, and took his seat wiping off the desk with santation wipes. Everything was perfect, his pencil point sharpened perfectly and papers organized by class, lesson, and grade he got on them. Which happened to all be A's.

"Pop Quiz." The teacher said and passed out the test. Roxas picked up his perfectly sharpened pencil and put it to the paper. "Roxas R-O-X-A-S Heart H-E-A-R-T." He mummbled under his breath and his classmates ignored him because they had gone to school with him for many years. Roxas wrote his answers perfectly, the answers always right, always perfect. Sora would scribble his answers down and barely pass, he was smart, but he wasn't brilliant. He was not brilliant like Roxas.

Roxas turned his test in last, and made sure all the tests were even with another and place his perfect paper on top of the other papers. Then he would turn and asked to be excused to go to the bathroom. There he would scrub his hands raw again, until the v ery bones themselves ached. But there was no germs to speak of. He touched the sink and wiped his hands on sterile napkins. He walked out the door.

This time it was perfect.

He counted his steps. Nintey-Nine, and one large step was one hundred. He sat down and wiped off his desk and folded his hands looking up. Sora stared at his hands from the corner of his eyes. The redness against the usual pale skin.

He wasn't getting better.

He was only getting worse.

But in Roxas's mind he was perfect. There was nothing wrong.

Nothing at all, except in his home his parents talked in low voices. Though the house was emptied they whispered to eachother.

"What shall we do?"

"He's not well."

"A danger to himself."