Chapter One: How About A Nice Hot Cup of STFU?

REVISED VERSION, REVISED NOVEMBER 2010

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy and Kingdom Hearts Square Enix. I have neither legal control over nor claim to own any of the copyrighted items mentioned herein. Any of the events occurring in this story are fictional or extremely loosely based on real events.

Warning: This story is rated M for a reason. It will include strong language, violence, sexuality, as well as domestic violence in the form of sexual, mental and physical abuse.

Note: I'd like you to read this note, please. For me, for yourself, and for all of the people who have suffered abuse.

I want to make something very, very clear to all of you: I do NOT condone abuse of any kind, nor do I like it or think it is a matter to be taken lightly.

I'm not pulling any punches with this story.

My goal with When I Was Younger is to NOT write a story that falls in with the masses of fanfiction where A, one of the characters is abused, meets "the one", and within a few days (or even just one) rapidly falls in love with "The One" or trusts them and then has sex with the person or whatever they please, living happily ever after, the abuse victim's past and the need for healing be damned for the sake of smut and fandom.

Or, B, the other popular method I've noticed: due to some unexplainable lapse in mental sanity, the abused character immediately, or very quickly falls in love or lusts after someone who rapes or harms them, proceeds to have their brains fucked out, then lives happily ever after, addled by a twisted version of the Stockholm Syndrome.

We've all read stories like these, kids, and let's face it: options A and B never happen, except, perhaps, in badly-written stories (…). There is no magical, instant one-day (nor one week nor one month for that matter) cure to the damage and scars that abuse of any form leaves on a person either mentally and/or physically, nor does this damage done truly ever heal. Even worse, some people may never recover, and even more sadly, some go on to repeat the horrific cycle. (About 30% of abused and neglected children will later abuse their own children, childhelp. org.) If anything, it takes TIME in large amounts to fix things, and as we all know that doesn't just pertain to abuse. Not only does it take time, but the healing process requires safe, if not positive things, outlets, and room to grow.

As I said, abuse is NOT a matter to be taken lightly. It comes in many forms and methods, some of which many of us overlook or blow off because they "don't seem like abuse", accepted or ignored by society. But no matter the severity, it is STILL abuse.

I want people to understand that the world does not consist of sunshine and daisies and that disgusting things like abuse aren't light matters. I would rate the abuse in this story a five on a 1-10 scale with eight being the events from A Child Called It (a wonderfully heartbreaking and simultaneously horrifyingly awakening autobiography by Dave Pelzer, read it.). I'm not looking to extremely horrify nor am I going for a disgustingly graphic fic. I'm not looking to write something with just shock value, I want substance as well. When I Was Younger's aim is not that, I just want to make it feasible and realistic.

That's what I'm hoping to convey realistically in this story. Roxas and Axel are the victims of abuse—one of past domestic abuse, the other of ongoing domestic abuse. YES, they were abused, but eventually the healing process will begin. I just want to show that the characters can learn to trust and love, to forgive and move on, and that romance and healthy relationships can occur after something as horrible as what they had to go through.

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That happiness and humor can still be a part of a life affected by despicable hands. That innocence isn't truly lost—and life can still be loved.

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Author's Note: I hereby baptize When I Was Younger and my other story Is My Perscription Ready? (but mostly WIWY) with the informal nickname "Reincarnation 1.5". 1.5 because I believe, even when I (hopefully) become a published author that I'll never truly be satisfied with the state of my stories because there is always room for improvement. Reincarnation because of the changes and growth I periodically go through as both a person and writer, reincarnation for how that growth and change affects my writing style, reincarnation for how I re-wrote this, reincarnation for how mainly Roxas and other characters go through changes. It's a repeating, unpredictable cycle, but it's there. I'm sure I'll edit more as I yet again go through a "reincarnation". And now I'll quit the psycho-babble and let you read.

I sincerely hope you enjoy! (No, I'm not at all sorry everything above is so long. ;) ) And now, on to the fic! Don't forget to review, please.

.oooooo.

It has been exactly seven years since I last saw that man, and I hope to never see his face again. Oh, I remember how it began, all right…how could I forget? As a potential candidate for a new father at first he was fascinating, kind, and fun—everything a fatherless little boy could want in the father figure he lacked. After months of courting my mother and spending lots of bonding time with me doing things that a stereotypical father figure did with their son, like teaching me how to play baseball and taking me fishing, playing Soldier and Cops and Robbers and Hide and Seek, he finally married my mother. Almost immediately he transformed into a manipulative, controlling, and worst of all abusive monster. The only positive thing he can be credited for is bringing my step-brother into my life.

My mother was a kind and wonderful woman who loved me sincerely, and grew to quickly love her new step-son as well. She tried to make things better for my sake, as well as his: marriage counselors for Mom and that monster, group therapy for the whole of us. Mom wanted to attempt the impossible and change her husband back to the way he was in the beginning for mainly me, but it was obvious her desire would only be just that: a desire. I know that all she wanted was for me to have that positive father figure I so desperately craved and that she so desperately desired for her son, but she really should have just ended it.

Sora was lucky. Mom let him move in with his friend Riku after a particularly horrid night of drunken abuse. She tried to force me to go, too—but I refused. How could I, when it was my fault that he was still around, anyways? That man had been screaming at Mother, pushing her around, and Mom had told Sora and I to get out of here right now. I, however, stayed; I couldn't bear to see my mother left alone in our house like that, especially since I knew the cause was me. I didn't want Sora to be hurt either, and I convinced him to leave and get to safety. I'd screamed at that man to divert his attention from my mother and he hit me across my face until I passed out.

That was the first time he'd ever laid a hand on me and I knew that it was only the beginning of many episodes of his abuse. Sora was an angel, he truly was. He would never back talked to that man, the prime image of obedience and submissiveness, but it was because of how purely kind and sensitive Sora was, and of course there was the fact that he was Sora's father. That man liked those aspects about Sora, he never did to my brother what he did to me, but I was glad, because I didn't want Sora to be hurt…he didn't deserve it one bit. Me? I was the exact opposite of Sora: I was stubborn and aggravatingly witty; full of clever retorts and as much defiance as an seven-year-old could muster. He didn't like that at all; he wanted to be in power, and his white-hot anger knew no control when there was nobody with authority around.

That man hit me with whatever he could find—spoons, branches, the classic belt, blitzballs, even his own hands and feet. Anything that could be improvised as a tool to express his anger without cutting or breaking my body, he would use. He never really beat Mom as he hit me, however. She never had bruises…he'd take out the brunt of his anger on me. He, however, seemed jealous that she cared for me so much, shielding me from his blows whenever she came across his awful abuse. Because of that, he seemed to be jealous of me, and she tried to never let him see when she was being affectionate to me, because we both knew that if he saw a display of affection shared between us there would be hell to play. He only wanted my mother to love him and Sora. Sora she did, but she loved that man in the sense that she wanted him mentally get better, which he never did.

I know that they "did it" too, and mom would be screaming in pain or sobbing in miserable melancholy. They did it as much as he liked, which wasn't often, he wasn't satisfied, but he never cheated. I knew what he did, as I quietly observed him—I had to, to have ammunition for when he picked fights with me, or to stay out of trouble.

It was as if he was only here to make our lives miserable and to toy with our minds and make us think he loved us, all for this sick game that only he knew how to play.

The pointless beatings and terrible abuse continued for two years. They episodes became so frequent that most of them melded together, but there are a few that I remember as clear as crystal. One of these happened one late afternoon, when mother denied his sexual advances. Angrily coming out of his bedroom, he caught me on my to the family room to recover a toy I'd left out. I remember most of what he'd said, and it had chilled me to the bone.

"Your mother refused to share some… alone… time with me because of you, you know that, Roxas? She always acts so strange when we're alone together, because of you. You're stealing her away from me, little boy, her and Sora too. You're so damn insolent and all you do after I spend my love, money, and time on you is spit on it. Well, it's time you pay your debts, isn't it? I want what you've stolen from me back, and if I can't get it from them, I might just get it from you."

While I barely remember what happened that evening nor do I wish to, I know that it was very unpleasant and that it was the moment that his mental dam broke.

A few months after that incident, the tsunami waves finally came crashing down. I saw him cornering Mom, a knife in his hand. Alcohol inebriating him beyond reason, he was incoherently screaming at her about "his" pristine kitchen having ''shit all over the floor'': a few of recycled shopping bags, fallen to the ground from their place in the cabinet. Mom had slaved over the kitchen that day, while he lounged about on his computer.

I was nine and was faced with the sight of a madman cornering my defenseless mother with a knife, for god's sake I was frozen in fear, and the only thing I managed to do was watch in terrified horror as he drunkenly converged on my mom. Luckily he only slashed her slightly along the sternum with the blade before stumbling off in the other direction, probably passing out on the couch. My mother and I locked eyes and her expression was all I needed to snap me back into reality and action. I ran upstairs and called the police, then locked myself in my room, and in ten minutes it was over. The rest was a blur only permeated by events worth mentioning: He lost custody of Sora and since my mother had adopted Sora at marriage he was relinquished into her care, seeing that she was obviously a lot more mentally stable.

Fate was not so kind and decided that she wasn't done with tormenting my family. Five years passed since that fateful night, and Mom grew more mad with each passing day to the point of insanity. She's in the Radiant Garden Mental Institution, as a permanent inpatient.

I'm sixteen now and live just with Sora, who is the only family…the person from the aftermath that I'll need. No mother, step father, counselors, or therapy for me. To be quite honest with you—and I know this is probably going to make me sound like a cliché little emo kid—but no one knows the true extent of what really happened to me and I like it that way. No one needs to know. Yeah, don't even bother with that psychologist bullshit, either. I'm not in the mood to get my brain picked apart as I lay on a leather couch by someone who barely knows me, okay?

To sum it up for you, I am Roxas, the boy with no last name. Well that's what I go by, at least. Hell, some people make fun of me at school and say "Hey, Roxas With No Last Name!", but I could care the fuck less. They're just ignorant fools. The surname given to me was that bastards' and I will have nothing of it, and our mother's… Well, I prefer that the past stays the past.

Sora and I live together, and I love the kid to death, all aggravating optimism and naivety aside. Even though he's blood related to that man, I could never see him as anything less then my best friend and brother. How could I be stupid enough, prejudiced enough to hate Sora for having half of his father's genes? You can't help what made you, and I can see past something as petty as that. Sora is my lifeline.

Well, there you have it. My life pretty much started from the day that horrid monster first hit me. Weird, huh? I can't really remember anything before that day, beside from a handful of floating memories. I only remember some events that occurred before that bastard came, and they're both good and bad memories that are usually something big, like my birthday. Even some of the stuff that happened after is a bit blurry. What do you call that? Suppressed memories caused by trauma or something along that line? I don't know, I'm not a damn psychologist. However, I'm kind of thankful for it—as I've said before, I don't really want to remember.

Lately, though, things have been coming back into my mind. They're floating right on in without permission at the most random moments, and some of the things, the flashbacks I see… they're downright bloodcurdling. They scare me to death because they actually might have happened. However, the part that terrifies me to the core has nothing to do with the contents of those flashbacks. What really freaks me out is that Sora is beginning to pry.

And if you've ever met Sora, you know I'm not overstating things when I say that he's stubborn.

"Get up, you lazy-head! At the rate you snail around at, we'll be lucky if we make it to the bus stop by third period~!" My brother's voice just piled on the annoying as he called to me in a screeching, extremely off-tune falsetto from behind the safety of my door. I groaned and tossed the pillow cushioning my head blindly at the general area Sora's voice was coming from. A dull thump and the resulting giggle quickly issued from that direction and I rolled over in irritation, now sincerely missing my lovely pillow that I'd turned into a pathetic projectile, no longer under my head.

Dear pillow, I miss you dearly, and I'm sorry things between turned out so badly between us. Come back to me? Love, Roxas.

"Shaddup," I grumbled, but of course Sora had disappeared by now and didn't hear. God, I hate school mornings. Hell, I hate any morning that begins for me before ten o'clock. I squeezed my comforter around me more tightly. I don't want to leeeave….oh, warm bed, I love you...eh, but I really can't afford to skip. After all, it's the first day back from winter break, and I know that if I don't get out of bed now, I won't until summer hits. Would you, if your room felt like an ice death trap? It had to be probably negative ten degrees out there…why? Twilight Town is famous for being such a melting pot of cultures, shops, and people, but why did it have to have such a wide range of temperatures too? Seriously, Mother Nature goes all out for each season here. Spring, and its all saplings popping out of melting snow, flowers sprouting up quicker then bunnies in a briar patch can churn out babies, and cute little baby animals popping their heads out of burrow holes. Summer, and the average temperature is a toasty ninety, minus the picturesque beach and the cooling breeze that accompanies that lovely image. With fall comes shedding trees and endless piles of orange and brown leaves, and winter equals snow, snow, and more snow, and the average temperature? This winter's is zero degrees Fahrenheit. The highest temperature of the winter months has been thirty, and the lowest has been negative twenty degrees. Por que. Heck, at least we have this roof over our heads. I really shouldn't bitch, seeing as I've got it luxuriously compared to other people.

I bet you're wondering how I have a roof over my head, if you remembered that bit about me not having any mothers, fathers, and the like. I guess I should have been a bit more clear about that. I don't have anyone like that LIVING in the same house as me or acting like the stereotypical parent, but of course, since I'm a minor, there has to be someone, right? I'm forever grateful to Riku's mom, who is the benefactor of housing, food, money, and other necessities for Sora and I. It's a weird setup, I know, but it works. I honestly wouldn't be able to imagine life in a homeless shelter or orphanage, or being stuck in the foster home system for that matter, because after all I know that those options would eventually separate me from Sora and I won't let that happen.

Riku's mom and my mom worked it out so that when Mom had gotten divorced to him, Riku's mom became our guardian, just in case. She never plays the act of your typical sitcom mother unless we need it. She gives us a monthly allowance for the things we need and pays the house mortgage and bills—Riku's mother is not only very kind and charitable, but a very rich and powerful woman in the business world, because honestly, how many sixteen year old boys have their own house, let alone someone who isn't blood related letting them live in it? The thing I love best about her is that she doesn't spoil us with excess amounts of money and wealth—she knows we're both sixteen-year-old boys, and we're just that. Riku's mom knows we're just good old fashioned working-class teenage boys at their finest, not silver-spoon fed aristocrats…so she doesn't spoil us rotten with a lifestyle that we don't need or really desire. Riku's mom told us that as long as we make great grades and stay out of trouble, she'd support us until we were fifty.

Riku doesn't treat us differently because we're his family's charity case, but as equals. Hell, he never mentions our living arrangements ever, and Sora and I both really appreciate it. He can be a bit of an asshole sometimes, but deep down I know that bastard cares and worries about us just as much as his mother does—probably even more. He's Sora's best friend and is almost as close as I am to Sora. Odd how the two closest people to my brother have personalities so different…Ah, I digress.

My feet touched the floor and the fluffy carpet, without fail, greeted me with its inevitable chill. Stumbling to my closet, I stripped out of my pajama bottoms and boxers as quickly as I could and changed into my undergarments and outfit I'd picked out the night before. I'd decided upon black velvet skinny jeans, an incredibly warm long-sleeved shirt and a black-and-white checkered flannel hoodie. My softly worn blue scarf that matched my eyes completed the ensemble. I slipped my earmuffs around my neck and shoved my gloves into my pocket for safekeeping, in case Hell decided to take place in my town and fire and brimstone became snow and ice.

I had taken a bath the night before, so I was wonderfully clean; Sora, unlike myself, neglected to take a bath every day. Yeah, I know that washing your hair every day is a bad thing, and maybe it is girly and borderline OCD, but I can't stand not being clean…all those germs, ugh! Even if I'm on the verge of passing out I have to clean my body in some way before I sleep. Not to mention, I have to brush my teeth. Gritty plaque rubbing against my lip and tongue? No sir.

Sora greeted me as I made my entrance from the abyss known as my room, and a genuine, goofy smile plastered on his face the moment he saw me. His painfully wide grin made a macabre thought of Glasgow Smiles flit through my head (Not a pretty picture, in case you were wondering), and it made my cheeks hurt. "He lives!" The brunet teased, lightly tapping my shoulder before skittering downstairs to the kitchen. I rolled my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. Seeing that much happy in the morning is painful. Sora is a morning person, without a doubt. Me? I'm the one who ends up running the morning person over with a bulldozer… just kidding.

I came downstairs to a breakfast of toast with butter and jam, paopu nectar, and cereal. Sora always liked to busy himself with the motherly duties, and breakfast was one of his favorites. Despite popular belief, Sora could cook pretty much anything except dinner. For some weird reason, anything that was a dinner dish he failed epically. Spaghetti resembled flamethrower-ified zombie guts and probably tasted as bad. We usually went to Riku's house for dinner or I cooked it, but if those two choices weren't options we usually pigged out on junk food, T.V. dinners, or whatever we could scavenge up. We're growing teenage boys, after all; leftovers at home were a rare sight and if they did exist, they probably weren't edible anymore. Ick…unless you're a messy teenage boy yourself, have lived with one, or are just extremely untidy yourself, you wouldn't get what I mean. But if you have: The horror of Unidentified Food Objects cheerfully sprouting molds, juices and odors that Shrek would have orgasmed looking at. (Ew, bad mental image right there.)

A sentimental smile crossed my face at the memory and Sora's face mirrored mine almost perfectly before he brightened up again and continued being the bouncy ray of sunshine he was. Although we aren't related by blood, we know each other so well it's as if we can understand how each other's thoughts, that whole 'twin' thing. I can finish his sentences when I'm in a good enough mood, and Sora can finish mine—I rarely bother to, 'cause to me it's kinda a parlor trick, something that was cool when we were little but now just extraneous and to "wow". On the other hand, Sora loves doing it to me…mostly to piss me off. Twinchronicity, I liked to call this phenomenon. Because of this, everyone thinks we're twins, and our looks help with that. Although Sora is brunet, freckled, and slightly tan and I blond and the color of cream, we had shockingly similar features—the most prominent being our eyes, which were the same shade of electric blue. We roll with it—we don't like being called step brothers and calling ourselves "twins" just makes things so much easier.

"C'mon, eat," Sora encouraged me, his mouth already stuffed full. I rolled my eyes as a few crumbs spewed from his stuffed mouth. It's like he's in a Chubby Bunny contest…with himself, trying to see how much he can stuff down his throat with every swallow.

"Mind your manners," I reminded with a small smirk. I wolfed my breakfast down elegantly, mind you. I liked my toast hard with a soft center, and squishy with butter throughout. Not soggy, squishy. Things dripping in butter are gross.

I wiped off the last crumb and wandered off to the bathroom, the first to finish my breakfast. As first to the bathroom to brush my teeth and style my hair, I knew that I'd return to Sora finishing up second helpings of everything. Did I mention he was a gluttonous little pig? The food had to go into some sort of alternate dimension; if any normal person ate that much in one sitting they'd have exploded by now.

The clock read six twenty two A.M. and our bus could get to the stop anywhere between six twenty five and six thirty five, but it usually came at the latter time.

"And I'm the one going to make us late?" Grabbing my messenger bag, I pulled the gloves onto my hands and placed the ear muffs around my neck. Scooping a handful of water, I splashed my face, and a small gasp jerked itself from my throat. The sink water was so cold it almost felt like it was burning my fingers and that was a telltale sign of a freezing night and a no doubt frigid world outside, to put it mildly.

"Coming, coming!" Sora cried out, frantic as he rushed past me to the sink, crumbs crusted around his face like a weird mustache. I couldn't help but chuckle. What an idiot... I love the kid.

We made it to the bus stop and only had to wait a heavenly five minutes, thank Hyne. Thirty-four minutes, some mild congestion on the highway, twenty-someodd kids later and we finally made it to our school. It was as if we'd never left on a three week break to start with, everyone falling back into the flow without missing a beat. The students around us were abrim with stories of gossip and the adventures of winter vacation, groups of friends reunited, there's ample amounts of bitching and moaning about having to be up so early. It felt good to be back in the place every kid shares a mutual love-hate relationship with.

Sora scanned the courtyard of our school, no doubt looking for his friends. "Um, so…yeah…" He trailed off, highly distracted, before his eyes widened and his voice grew excited. "I'll see you later Roxas!" Sora rushed off like a five year old on a sugar high to join Riku and their lady friend Kairi, who was waving at him from a bench by the cafeteria.

I gazed around the open courtyard, looking for one of my own friends. It's hard, when you're short as I am. "Hey, Roxas! Over here!" A girl's voice called, and I turned in the direction of the voice to find my friend Olette smiling sweetly at me.

Relieved, I started over in Olette's direction, contemplating her. There was something off about her appearance, but what was it…? There was nothing new about her taste in attire, she hadn't tanned, and her face was still prettily makeup free…oh! That's what looks so different: Her hair! Her chestnut colored hair had been all the same length and rested just below her shoulder blades without bangs or layers, and now it was layered stylishly, cute bangs framing her face. It was rather adorable and was definitely a change for the better. Olette was academically driven, all her classes Advance Placement, Dual Enrollment and Honors. Her grades are stellar and have been since first grade. She's only missed class if she was borderline comatose, is in National Honors Society as well as our school's Green Team Environment Club, Thespians group, and LGBT rights club. To top it all off, she has a 4.5 G.P.A (which is what happens when you Chuck Norris-ify straight As in all your classes), which she's maintained since sixth grade… she's clear in the running for valedictorian of the seniors next year. To top it off, she's constantly hanging out with us boys, I can't figure out how she does it.

Returning her smile, I joined her at the table, hugging her tightly before I went to sit on the stool to her right. I bumped fists with my friend Hayner, who sat on top of the table behind her. He hadn't changed, his crazy hair and clothes still the same. Pence hadn't undergone any noticeable metamorphosis either; he sat across from Olette, grinning cheerfully at me. "Hey guys," I greeted Hayner punched me lightly on the shoulder and Pence waved, sinking his teeth into an apple.

"Nice hair, 'lette," I commented, and she beamed proudly, pleased I had noticed. As one of her Green Team friends stopped by to chat, I glanced up at Hayner to find that he couldn't keep his eyes off her. Heh…I'd have to comment on that to him later. They'd make a cute if odd couple, but I was rooting for Pence and Olette to get together. The guy needed a break, and had confided in me that he was in love Olette almost a year ago. Hayner…for being such a dumbass, he's flirtatious, and his crush on Olette would probably pass as quickly as it had come. His love for her was platonic; his lust for her was no doubt spurred on by her haircut and large boobs. Hey, that's a man for you.

We chatted about our various winter break shenanigans until the first bell rang. That meant that we had ten minutes until we were tardy and doors closed. Annoyingly, my locker is close to the bus area and my homeroom class upstairs on the opposite side of the campus, a five minute walk from where I was now.

I managed to make my way to my locker without getting consumed by the huge crowd of kids and stood on tiptoe to reach my locker. It was always a top one, and the tall kids always, and I mean always, got the bottom ones. It wasn't even fair: juniors and seniors were supposed to get the full length lockers instead of the short ones all mashed together in a helpless, jumbled mess! I had to deal with it for two years dammit, why another? Stupid school officials and their mess-ups…

Grr. I reached into the dark depths of mymind for my locker combination and managed to open the rusty lock on the first try with only a few violent tugs. I tossed my messenger bag in the locker and got the books needed for my first three classes. Man, back to the grind. I tried to close my locker and the damn thing wouldn't budge. What the hell? I pushed the door as hard as I could and it groaned pathetically but only moved a centimeter. I stood up and slammed my heel into the thing, a shrieking sound my reward as it finally submit. Other students raised eyebrows at me as they walked past me to class, but seriously, the damn locker was made in the Stone Age and I deserved better. Besides, it's not like a few kicks and punches would make it look worse then it already did.

There were five minutes left until the bell rang and I was late for homeroom. I was slightly irritated from my locker fiasco and even more irritated by the fact that I might possibly be late for class—the time always seemed to go by much more quickly then it should when you didn't want it to, and vice versa. In autopilot, I quickly strolled across the hall and into the upperclassmen academic building, darting up stairs. Almost there…OOMPH!

Of course I just had to get knocked over. Whoop de freakin' do, what was going to happen next, a pop quiz on the book I forgot to read over break? …Actually, I'm not going to think about that one, as it's very well a possibility.

"Who the...?" I growled out in shock, startled as books and notebooks flew out of my arms. I stumbled forward, twisting at the last second so I landed on my butt rather then my knees, which would have hurt. It's not every day that you're knocked flat on your ass by the force of a semi.

The squeak of sneakers against linoleum told me that it obviously wasn't a truck and I sighed, closing my eyes in irritation for a lovely millisecond.

"Oops, sorry there, kid," A masculine voice called from above me. Its tone was a hybrid of mild amusement and apology, but above all, casual indifference. That pissed me off even more. "Didn't see ya there."

Usually, when you knock someone over, you fucking help up and pick up their shit for them, jerk.

I swore under my breath. Kid? That name filed itself next to any derivative of "Short" in my Great Book of Irritations.

I'm a junior and we're in high school, jerk, I'm not a five year old!

I gathered my books, pushing off the ground. Kid? I'm not some freshmeat and I may be short but I'm not a child! I've always had a thing where when I'm pissed, I'll mentally brood on an ambiguous comment that could be insulting until I was mad. Not the healthiest thing to do, but you can shove your fucking opinion down your throat until I've dealt with this guy, please and thank you!

"Maybe keep your eyes off your Playgirl magazine and try looking around next time, assho...le?"

As I opened my eyes "Oh shit" decided to become my interjection of the day, the only thing I could think as I opened my eyes and discovered I was eye level with the thigh of my assailant. Looking up slowly, the face of the guy seemed a mile away. I should have looked before I let my irritation and temper get the better of me, I know. Especially since this guy could be psychotic and could have been a 400 pound, violent redneck called Bubba. Standing up quickly to get away from a potential foot in my face, I looked at his face and found acid green eyes, ruby red hair that was ridiculously spiked, and a angular face with two upside-down tear drops tattooed on his cheeks. Or maybe they'd been lamely drawn on with marker, but this guy didn't seem like the type to do stupid stuff like that. The other boy smirked, momentarily shocked expression quickly morphing into one I couldn't read, one highly shaped red eyebrow raising. He didn't seem angry, just a bit irritated at my own outburst.

And then a shit eating smirk spread on his face, wide and toothy. Infuriatingly so.

"Sorry 'princess', didn't mean to interrupt your PMS-time there. If you don't mind, I'll carry on with eye-raping the latest man-whore in my conveniently nonexistent porno mag here," He said, snickering.

I fumed. This guy made me want to punch his lights out! Sora would say I'm overreacting but I'd been teased so much during middle school and freshman year by the tall people that it was almost automatic to bear my fangs. I know I had no reason to bite, but hey, no one is perfect, so cut me some slack.

"Fuck you." I growled, giving him my most impressive death glare.

Firecrotch continued chuckling. "If you could reach." He sang his retort in a falsetto. The asshole retorted before shrugging, "Sorry about that, kiddo." Mister Asswipe shrugged a shoulder before walking past me to a room across the hall.

I sent a glare that would have made a basilisk cry for it's mommy in his direction once more before realizing that the bell should have rang a while ago...oh, shit! Gathering my things, I frantically stomped to the other end of the hallway and slid into my classroom just as the bell rang...just in time. My homeroom teacher simply gave me "The Look" before directing her attention to more pressing matters such as the attendance sheet, which I'm luckily not going to be marked as Tardy on.

I sighed, silently moving between rows of desks to sit in mine. Dumping my books on top of it, I fixed my binder and notebook, returning scattered papers to their rightful homes.

What a day this was going to be... it was already turning out to be a bad one.

.oooooo.

This is the revised first chapter of my first fanfic in two years. As I said, the old chapters will be available to read on a different website for those who miss the old version, though I can't see why you'd want to read that crap. XD

PLEASE REVIEW! It makes my day.