Chapter Fifteen: Chronicled

"When I was a baby, my family lived in a little village south of Junon, right on the water. We had this little beach on our property and a little house too." My voice was haunting, even to me, and I almost wished I could write it down instead of going out loud. It would have been easier.

Demyx sat across from me, tense hands cupped around a hot mug of coffee, green/hazel hued eyes watching me carefully.

I sighed. "They didn't have a lot of money. We never did, really, but my dad never wanted his family to think that way. My mother and-" I swallowed heavily, "S-sister had a lot more than you might think for a low income household like ours." I stared into the contents of my own mug, too nervous to look at Demyx, now that I had begun my story. "I was born… early. Premature. I guess I was sick a lot in the first year or so. I'm a little sketchy on the details of it." I chanced a glance at Demyx, who nodded his understanding. "I don't remember my mother at all," I admitted. "I was too young when…" I trailed off for a moment, but didn't need the blond to nudge me back into action.

X.x.X

The little boy, Zexion, frowned at his sister, barely four years old, although he was quite a bit smaller than the other boys is age. "Sis?"

The girl, several years Zexion's senior, glanced up at him, forcing a smile to her pretty lips. Her dark brown hair was long then, and plaited behind her in a messy braid. Her eyes, a rust color that looked like nothing else Zexion had ever known, were glassy from unshed tears. She never cried though, no matter what. The boy didn't understand it. "Yup?" Her voice didn't crack, not anymore, not so long after the worst day of her life, which hadn't been terribly long frankly, at only fourteen years.

"Why are you upset?" He was innocent. No one ever tried to explain the truth to him, not that the girl didn't want him to know at first. Quite the contrary; she thought he should understand right off the bat, but the children's father wouldn't have it. No, the teen knew he wouldn't even admit it himself. Mother was never going to come home.

"It's nothing, Zexy," The girl replied brightly, giving him a small smile. He frowned. "Really, I'm okay. I just… lost something."

"Oh," The boy said, smiling and taking her lightly tanned hand in his own. It was much smaller, and a bit paler, but he held her as if she was the one that needed protecting, not the other way around. "Well, let's go find it." He was all smiles as he dragged the girl around the tiny cottage (for it was quite a stretch to name the place a 'house'). He didn't release her hand as they toured the main room (which served as a living room, kitchen and dining room), or either of the two bedrooms (one painted a soft yellow, serving as a nursery, the other left with the dark wooden walls, their father's bedroom), or even when they squeezed into the miniscule (and rather outdated) bathroom. Only when it came time to check the second floor, the loft, the area that was hot and stuffy and served one, single purpose: to be the teenaged girl's bedroom; that Zexion released his loved sister's hand, because ladders were tricky and he still wasn't good at climbing them. He searched all over with her, for the remaining hours of daylight in the dusty family home without even knowing what it was they were looking for.

He never did know if they found it, but sunset came, and soon it was bath time. Father wasn't home yet, but that wasn't anything new. Zexion knew Daddy loved him, and that was why he was never home before bedtime. Someone had to make sure they had food and a good place to live, after all. Sis had explained it so well, so it made sense. Mommy was another story; one that never really had a good answer. It never did make proper sense to the boy.

"P-"

…

X.x.X

I swallowed harshly. "P-" I stopped my monologue there. I couldn't do it. I was such a terrible person. I wasn't Paine's Zexy anymore, and I knew Demyx would have like him better. Was that-? Was that why I couldn't say her name out loud?

Demyx noted the issue almost immediately. Bless him. "It's ok, Zex." He said softly, "You don't have to name her for me. Just call her 'Sis' if that makes it easier."

X.x.X

"Sis?" The boy asked innocently, wiping suds from his brow before they could run into his eyes and start to sting. The spoken to girl slowed her movement, halfway through washing the child's unnatural-looking, but pretty blue hair.

"Yup?"

"What happened to Mommy?"

She stopped completely on this. Sometimes years of practice really couldn't heal over wounds like this. "She went away," The girl replied in a soft tone, little more than a whisper. A cool evening breeze filtered in through the badly sealed window, making the small boy shiver.

"Where'd she go?"

"I'm… I'm not sure, sweetie."

"Why?"

Sis sighed. Nothing true could pass her lips right now. No way. How do you tell a four-year-old that mommy went away because she couldn't take it anymore? How do you phrase it so that the child doesn't feel like it's all their fault? How do you do it without inflicting so much pain? It couldn't be done. It was inhumane to do that to someone so sweet, so innocent. Sis stumbled over thoughts. Sure, she suffered every day with the knowledge that Mother, her mom didn't love her, after all. Not enough to stay. She knew exactly what that pain was, how harshly it cut, how much she hated because of it. No, it was wrong to tell the kid any of that. Father was right. She knew it. "Mommy had to go off for work. She didn't want to leave you of course, but she didn't have a choice. She has so many things she has to do, you see?" It might have been funny, in another situation, how easily that lie could pass from between those sweet, pink hued lips.

She finished the bath and put the child to bed, but of course, not before a story and a glass of milk.

Zexion was too young, too fragile to understand how hard things were for the girl back then.

X.x.X

"… She chopped all her hair off the next day," I recalled softly. "I guess she had kept it long for a while because Mom liked her with long hair. I used to wonder sometimes if she stopped wanting to be like Mom altogether after that. I wouldn't be surprised if that was it." It was hard to understand, almost, that I was here, in the present, seventeen going-on-eighteen next September, fully grown, in my kitchen with Demyx, when my mind was allowed to wander so far away from here. Another time, another feeling. Everything. I was surprised, and proud of how much I really could remember, after all these years of repression and ignoring these things all together.

Demyx held his chin in his hands now, his eyes never leaving mine. Just when I was about to continue, assuming he wasn't going to speak, he squeaked in a way that made me wonder if he was breathing. "She left? Just up and went?" I sighed, but nodded. "Why?" The anger in his eyes made me nervous. Was coming clean like this okay? What if he decided my mother was right? What if my problems were too much for him too? "How could she?! Her own son! How could someone go off like that, leave a baby behind? And your sister too!" His scowl turned into a saddened frown. "I can't even imagine how much that must have hurt her… To think her mother…"

I nodded. "I think… My dad had it real bad too…" Not that I would really know. I don't remember much of him either, honestly.

Demyx sniffed and nodded. "Go on," It was hardly a whisper.

"I don't remember a whole lot about that place, honestly. I was too young, and memory is strangely like a sieve, you know?" A nod. "But then… when I was older, Dad got a new job in Junon. It was too far away for him to commute, and Sis and I were too young to stay home alone for weeks, he thought. So we were going to move.

"I was stupid." I sighed, although my voice was still even, monotonous, frighteningly sure. "I honestly believed that my mom was going to come home someday. I was scared that she would come back and not know where we were. I didn't want to leave. But somehow they convinced me that she'd know, and we were in the car… for a really long time."

X.x.X

The highway between Junon and the southern coast was long, winding and horribly maintained. It was just after dawn when tired, old (although he was much younger than he appeared) Mr. Alfred Kurisaki had buckled his two beautiful children safely into the back seat of his mangled pick-up truck. (Honestly, Sis buckled herself and Zexion in, even though she was barely awake.) He thundered down the road and out of town with the radio on low, bustling soft melodies that did nothing for the man. However, just because he was rarely home, meant nothing to demonstrate his love for his children. He knew them better than he knew himself. This, of course, was how he could tell that neither child had slept well at all the previous night. That is, if the red-tinged eyes (one set in a deep, knowing auburn hue, the other set a striking violet) hadn't been proof enough.

The girl, sixteen years of age (very nearly an adult, despite Alfred's wishes to keep her that sweet little girl forever) never slept until she was certain her brother was sleeping. It was sweet, however saddening. She was a mother hen, but she was still too young to have to do that. Mr. Kurisaki would always be proud of her.

The younger child, the boy, six years old now (my, how time had flown!) was difficult for Alfred to look at sometimes. He was the spitting image of his wife – the woman who decided she couldn't love someone like him, not when there was no money to properly treat her dying, sickly baby son. The cobalt hue of his hair, the pale, smooth skin… On a bad day, it was too much. But today was not a bad day. Today, he looked at the sleeping child in the rear-view and saw a gift, a child that had beaten the odds, even without a mother's warmth, a child that liked the color yellow, and that smiled, and that had lived. It wasn't hard at all to look at that child on hopeful days like this one.

The day passed slowly, and it started to rain outside of the Junon County bypass sometime near dark. Driving all day had been tiresome, but it would doubtlessly be worth it when everything was said and done. This extra money would help so much; maybe he could save some and get his daughter a car for her next birthday. That would be… lovely.

It was dark, and pouring by the time the truck huffed up to the bypass, and the visibility was terrible. Sis was fully awake, nervous, but Zexion was sleeping again, a tiny smile on his face while he dreamed of things only he would understand.

It happened before anyone could blink, let alone scream. An eighteen wheeler, coming from the opposite direction, took a curve the wrong way, went totally out of control and swerved, directly into one small, abused, pick-up truck.

X.x.X

"The truck crashed into us too fast," I murmured, hands tucked tightly around my chest, as if holding the pieces together. I could almost see Demyx across from me, although my sight had been blurred by the vivid memory. This was a day I would never, in all my life, be able to forget. Demyx's fingers twitched and I knew he wanted to reach out to hold my hands, which was exactly why I kept both of them safely tucked against my chest. No. If he was going to know me, he had to know everything, and if that was going to happen the right way, I had to get it out now. His touch would not help it come out. It would just make me more uncomfortable. After all, I knew what was coming, I knew the character flaws that are made clear by the end of this story, and when he found out…

It would be for the better.

Even if he left me all alone again.

"My father died instantly. There wasn't enough left of him for an open casket funeral." Demyx shuddered, but I remained unmoving. It seemed that now, once I faced it as an adult, passed the years where the very thought would shock one to tears, without the terrible aid of the nightmares to reinstate the horror, the spinning sensation, and the smell of blood… Without feeling like a child again, when speaking of it as someone my age, I had no tears for it. Nothing left. My eyes were dry, and my voice hardly faltered at all. I wondered vaguely if that disturbed Demyx as much as the story did. He was looking awfully pale. "The truck was spun around and lodged into the railing on one side. It took the medics an hour and the Jaws of Life to get me out of what was left."

But before that….

X.x.X

The shock, the spinning, the sound of scraping, bending, breaking metal, as well as a single belated scream and sharp pains all over woke the young Zexion from his slumber. He opened his eyes to the color red. Red.

He was disoriented for several moments, blinking and wondering if he was having a nightmare. But no, this wasn't a dream. Where his father and the front seat had once been was now nothing but metal… and blood. It hurt to breath, and it was dark, so the six year old child could do little but blink and try not to cry.

He had never wanted his mother so badly in his life.

A shuddering breath, pained and hollow, pulled his attention to the side. A second scream, this one higher, more hysteric, and much younger than the first rang out through the still-raining streets. Covered, soaked from her head to the seat, and even onto the floor of the car in deep red, sticky, metallic-smelling substance was Zexion's sister. Sticking into the seat, though her shuddering torso was a large, gagged piece of the vehicle they had only moments before been safe inside. Tears of pain and shock trickled down her pretty face and a thin trail of the same crimson substance trailed from the corner of her trembling mouth down her chin and neck.

She looked at Zexion seriously, a shaking, barely mobile hand closed around his smaller one and she tired to smile. It came out as a grimace due to a new wave of pain rushing through her veins. Her eyes leaked more tears as she spoke, her angel's voice not but a croak now, "Zexion? You're not hurt, are you?" She gagged on the words and choked up more blood, squeezing Zexion's hand tightly. He was crying now too. What had happened? He couldn't even begin to comprehend.

He didn't even know if he was hurt yet. There was so much blood! Sis, her hand no longer warm with life, her skin paled and chalky wherever it was not stained red, coughed again, her grip failing. Something lumpy and red was half inside her body; half on her lap and the child decided he didn't want to know what it was. It was, of course fairly obvious that it was something important. Even at six, Zexion had no choice but to understand that he was watching the person who raised him die.

"Ze-ze…" She gagged, sighing out a shaky final breath. Her bright eyes faded and glossed over… Empty… Very obviously dead.

A third scream, this one jagged and taking the form of a name filled the night air, although no one knew, for it was drowned out by the screaming sirens of the ambulance.

X.x.X

Demyx gasped, his eyes distant and horrified, his face as pale as mine, his hands shaking in a horrible way. He chocked on words for a moment, but soon gave up a nodded for me to continue. This was… getting harder. My voice was no longer empty and frank. Now, it cracked every now and again, and I found myself longing for the warmth of Demyx's hand. But no. Not yet. (Maybe not ever again… if he-)

I nodded gruffly and continued.

X.x.X

Zexion wouldn't – no he couldn't release that little thing, his sister's hand. It was cold by now, she was totally gone. There was no hope for the girl anymore, but the young child might still survive, if he was treated immediately. He screamed and cried and lost all sense when they removed him from the rubble of the truck. He was hysterical and fought the rescuers when they took him from the girl's deceased sights. Something was cutting into his palm, but he refused to let it go. It was some sort of shell, someone noted. The boy was quickly sedated and the dangerous item was taken away.

Three broken ribs, countless cuts and burns, severe shock and whiplash, and a totally demolished upper right leg aside, it was agreed by all present that the small boy had lived miraculously. Everyone else involved in the accident had been pronounced 'dead' before even leaving the site. His slow, gradual, but full recovery was amazing to the nurses that took care of him.

Zexion, however, felt little more than the pain at first. His body ached for weeks, then the reconstructive surgeries on his leg (there had been three) followed by physical therapy that had been torturous, then there was the ribs to worry about. And all that was before one could even consider the emotional trauma. The child cried, always, until he had no tears left, and the physiatrist that had been paid to see him daily could only say one thing for the child: He wanted his family. He cried for Daddy and Sis endlessly, but when he was calm, when he was awake and un-drugged and consolable, he spoke of nothing but his mommy, and how she would come for him any day now.

Any day now.

Zexion wanted his beloved toy, Bunny ceaselessly at first, but he had been told that it had been ruined in the crash. He didn't doubt those who said it. It had probably soaked up all that blood…

It was alright, he told himself. Mommy would come and it would all be okay.

Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months.

Any day now.

Soon, Zexion was recovered almost completely, and able to leave the treatment center. He had no family on record that could be found so what to do with the child became a concern. The physiatrist, himself took the boy for a while, and then he was moved swiftly into a foster program. He was reluctant at best, impossible on bad days, crying that he couldn't go away, Mommy wouldn't know where to find him!

Any day now.

He was barely eight years old when he matured, realized mommy was never coming. It was then that he stopped speaking all together.

It was scarcely noticed at first. The boy had been shy from the start, fearful and weak. He was often ill, due to his horrible immune system. Because of this, he was normally schooled at 'home'. It wasn't until his first flashback that the problem was properly registered.

Eight years old, living with the same family he had known since he was released from the hospital, Zexion was finally healthy enough, enough of the time to go to the local elementary school. The family's biological daughter, roughly the same age as the troubled child, was going to take care of him for his first day. She held his hand, introduced him to her friends, took care of him all day, and everything was perfect. After a few weeks of this, some seats in the classroom were moved around. This was routine. The teacher liked the children to all know one another well.

Zexion's chair was red.

It was a violent memory, hitting him with as much force as the accident, itself had. He screamed and fell, cried, swung out wildly, tried to escape the arms of anyone that tried to touch him.

He gave the little girl a black eye.

He was soon placed in another home, and never saw the nice little family again. They never tried to see him. They left him alone.

And then another new home. It seemed everything the child touched was cursed. No home was safe. Nothing was right. It wasn't until he was placed with a young couple in the country that he had his next flashback. He was almost hit by a car in the frenzy to escape the woman's grasp at a festival celebrating the local fire department.

They sent him away too, but this time, it was to an asylum. Nine years old, and he was locked away, in a little blue room, in a little white building, with a little too much cleaning fluid in the air.

He never met people's eyes. He never spoke. For years, he floated around this way, not real, not there. And sometimes he was spoken to by the other children. Sometimes they were scared of him because he never talked back. He was alone a lot.

Then, sometime near Zexion's fourteenth birthday, an old man came to see him. He talked about 'home' about going away from the little white building and the little blue room. Zexion was smart, the man had reasoned, too smart to stay here forever. The man's name was Ansem, so Zexion had been told. It was a good idea, as he had grown tired of the little blue room, and the too-nice-but-never-really-meaning-it nurses. He was sick of the meager reading lists, the simple school. He was bored with being 'insane', with never seeing the real world. He was afraid too, of course. He was alone, all alone, much too frequently already. What would happen if he was left alone on the outside?

In the end, he agreed, and it was not long after that when he was released. He still had to visit a physiatrist weekly, and take a daily medication for his flashbacks, for anxiety, for whatever-it-was they thought was wrong with him now. For a while, he was relatively okay, comparatively speaking. Ansem was a good man, and he taught Zexion a lot. He even helped the boy to lessen his medication intake legally.

Just when the young teen was beginning to think that he could be normal for this man, Ansem had a heart attack in the dead of the night. The doctors couldn't revive him. Zexion was alone again.

Back in a fostering program, Zexion floated between households and families for the remainder of his childhood, staying far, far away from everyone whenever possible. Eventually, although he had a foster family that came to see him daily, he became emancipated and found an apartment in Modeoheim City. He worked there, went to the local high school, and stopped taking medications all together. He was silent, brilliant and very scarcely known.

X.x.X

I was standing now, pacing back and forth in the kitchen, too shaky to sit still any longer.

Demyx sat on the kitchen table, jean-clad legs swinging absently while he listened with the utmost concentration. "That's when Ava came in?" He asked quietly, unshed tears that I ignored shining in his gorgeous eyes.

I nodded, but didn't face him. Back, forth. Back, forth. Remember to breathe. This was the part I had been dreading. This was the part where Demyx would get overworked by how horrible I was, how cursed, and he would run for it. He would go so far away and never come back. Eventually, he would forget me completely. But I- I wouldn't wait for him like I had for my mother. I would know right away, the moment he left me that he wasn't coming back. Ever again. There would never come a moment in my life where I would fool myself into believing that he would love me and remember me and come back to get me. I was older, and smarter than that now.

I was accepting of it. It was fact. No one could take what was left of me and make a functioning human being. Especially not after what was seconds away now. I understood. It wasn't Demyx's fault.

So why did it make my chest burn so?

I heard the shuffle of shoes against the laminate floor and I knew Demyx was on his feet. I suppressed the urge to scream and tried not to pace faster. Don't look at him, Zexion. Just keep going. Keep going. It's easier this way. (Bullshit!) It's going to be okay. (No, no it won't…) It will be for the better. It will be for the better. It will be for the better.

I couldn't help but gasp when my path was intersected by a purple t-shirt and the solid chest of its inhabitant. Demyx's arms wrapped around my torso tightly, his face nuzzled into the crook of my neck and suddenly, bizarrely, he began to sob. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, my eyes widened of their own accord and my arms hung uselessly at my sides. Still, Demyx held fast, clinging to me as if this were our last embrace (Oh, that's right. It probably is…) crying into the fabric of my midnight blue turtleneck. We stood this way for a long time, and I marveled at his compassion. Did he really want to comfort me before he went away?

It wasn't until he looked up at me with puffy eyes that a second option occurred to me. What if – and it was a sin to think he'd still want me now, even with what a wonderful person he is, but – what if he wasn't crying because he was so sickened by me? What if he was crying for me? Was it possible to think he might be crying the tears I could not? That he loved me so much he would even take the burden of being sad, of mourning, of crying off of my shoulders? Was it even possible for a human being to be that much of a saint?

I wasn't sure I could believe it, but if it was possible to be that way, Demyx would doubtlessly be the one to prove it.

"I'm so sorry," He said softly, still clutching to me like nothing else. My heart sank. I delicately removed his arms from my torso, not really surprised by how little fight he put up for it. How silly of me! I had hoped. I had hoped and not caught myself before it was too late. I should never have spoken to Demyx at all, I knew, but somehow… I couldn't make myself regret it. Not with the way he sniffed and cupped my face tenderly, giving me a watery smile. "How did you keep it inside for so long, Zexion?" he wondered. I tried not to ruin this last moment with a frown. I must have failed horrendously, because the blonde's smile vanished almost immediately and he pulled away.

Seconds ticked by before he spoke again, and this time, I was sure it was going to be the 'goodbye'. I was rearing and ready to flinch at the words, but… They weren't what I was expecting. "I'm so proud of you. I really hope you feel better now, Zexy." He was rather beautiful when he looked at me like that… "I have something I want to give you," he murmured then. I stared. Give me? What? Why? How? He gestured for me to close my eyes, which I did without argument. I could hear the rustling of fabric and then I felt his warm hands doing something around my neck. The moment was painfully long and I held my breath. Was it a trick of some sort?

No. Not from Demyx. He wouldn't to that to me. I knew him better than that. Suddenly, his hands were gone from my neck, and there was a mild, almost nonexistent weight there instead. "Okay!" He exclaimed, suddenly chipper and happy. I smiled despite myself; it was just like him. "Open your eyes."

When I did, it took me quite some time to figure out exactly what had changed. Demyx was still wearing exactly the same t-shirt as before, but he grinned and stared directly into my eyes, as if he had just solved the most complicated equation ever written. My hands wandered to my neck where I found a narrow chain. Following the chain down to my chest, I gasped, my eyes popping back up to lock with the teen's own before me.

"Your necklace!" I breathed, rubbing it absently between my fingers.

There was the smug grin. "Yup."

"I can't take this, it's yours."

The grin morphed to a smile, softer and more private. "It sure is," He murmured, leaning closer to me. I could smell the sugared coffee on his sweet breath, as well as the salt from his now-dried tears. "And it means a lot to me. You'd better make sure you take good care of it." He winked, and I could only stare. "You do remember what it means, right?"

"Of course," I tried to sound calm, but my voice shook uneasily. Was he really going to stay? Would he really keep me, knowing how he now did who I was?

Both of his hands came to cup my cheeks, and he stared into my eyes and through them, into my soul the way I was still rather afraid of. "You're never alone anymore, Zexion," He whispered. "Even when I'm not right there, holding you," He laughed lightly, "Although I doubt I'll ever be able to let you go now," Serious again, "You know you're not all alone, because that's there to remind you of me. Right?"

Never alone. Never again. He knew. He had listened, to everything I had said, and some things I hadn't, and come to see the real problem. He knew how to fix me, and he was going to do it. Now. I traced the pattern on the little silver heart. It was his. And he had given it to me. To keep. I smiled a little.

I'll never be alone again? That thought… I never even considered it. I figured it was impossible for someone like me. But then again… There were absolutely no lies in those big, round, green/hazel hued eyes. For the first time in what felt very much like years I hugged him back, tightly, burrowing my face into his neck, and felt him shiver and laugh.

Was that… a weight lifting off of my shoulders? Or was I dying? I wasn't sure, but Demyx was there, so it must be alright. Demyx just made things better like that.

X.x.X.x.X

Fast update and a longer chapter! YAY! (Are you forgiving me for the long wait now???) –ish hopeful-

I'm starting to worry that I've overrated this story. It's not acting much like an 'M' rated story, is it? Should it be 'T'? … -shrugs-

I'M SO HAPPY! I seriously couldn't wait to write this chapter, and I'm really rather happy with how it came out. Zexion's past has been haunting me for months. It's so nice to have it out in the open. It's odd for me, because with fanfictions I normally don't like the story at all anymore by the time I get to the chapter that's been nagging at me forever. I seriously think it's all the wonderful reviews, alerts and faves that have kept me going. We're in the final stretch, now kids! There's really only three or four planned chapters left (which is flexible because of how long winded I am when writing).

Reviewers! LiteraryMirage, Akilina-chan, MuffenPirate, pride1289, Ainulin, LawlietxRinoa, purewhiteshadow, foreverxXxsamexXx (who gets endless love and affection for not only reading and reviewing ever chapter in a marathon, but for drawing an adorable fanart for me as well! Thanks, love!), and My-Emo-Sunshine. Thanks so much, my friends!