Riku; You Can See She's a Beautiful Girl

What makes a story? Is it the plot? The characters? Maybe the main focus is on the themes, the symbols. Who knows? Does it always have to have a proper beginning, or even an ending? I think, not really. The way I see it, any story is just a series of snapshots. It is picture after picture of different moments in life—maybe not yours, maybe not a person you know, but someone's life. Key moments that make you who you are or that hold and give meaning to your life. I mean, what is a life without meaning? How can that life become a story?

I like a good story. I like being able to take something simple or fantastic, small or large, and weave it into a single thread of dangling moments. Because we each define our life and those moments, just us and no one else. We write our own stories.

Me, I write stories with a camera lens. A Kodak Easyshare C190, a rather nice digital camera that cost a pretty penny. The great thing about it was that I got to pick and choose the moments I wanted to keep, the pictures I wanted to string together. There's something empowering about that. When I think about it, I see the world with greater clarity through the lens. You know? Probably not, but it makes sense to me. Taking random photos, forming stories from those photos—that makes sense to me. The one thing that doesn't is the fact that I don't take my own pictures, my own moments, and try to tell my own story about my own life.

I couldn't give you a reason why; I just don't like it. My place is behind the camera, not in front of it. My job is to interpret other people's lives, not my own. My role is to tell stories other than my own. Never in my life have I been concerned with doing otherwise—

Until now.

I guess.

It's nothing amazing, for the record. Nothing surprisingly deep or life changing. It's not about the plot. It's not about the characters, really, just how things play out around them. Us. Me. It's just a series of snapshots, a brief look. Things just happen, and for once I don't mind sharing these things. Even if you don't find it all that meaningful.

It still holds meaning for me.

The buzz of the fridge seemed a lot louder than normal tonight. It had always bugged the hell out of me, but it was much worse tonight. Tried ignoring it, but that was a hard feat considering my room was directly next to the kitchen. Paper thin walls. Fun. It was the noise that drove me out of bed and into the hallway—or what counted as a hallway. Our apartment was small…

I don't know what I planned on doing now that I was up, but I hadn't expected to find Mom half naked, sprawled out on the living room couch. There was such a stark contrast between the black of her bra and underwear and the white of her skin, I could have sworn she was a ghost. A thin blanket had fallen off her childish figure. Her eyes were a little blurred, red, and her makeup was running down her cheeks.

She had an old picture gripped loosely in one hand. Yeah, that one.

I heaved a sigh, walked over towards the couch. Took the photo away and set it aside on the coffee table face-side down. Didn't want to look at it, at the likeness of the man I once considered my father from a decade ago, didn't want to see his smiling face from when he was still around. Ass…

Mom looked up at me blankly. "Riku." Slurred. Sleepy. She'd been drinking again.

My voice was hushed, equally tired. "I hate to say I told you so, but I told you so."

The woman chuckled, held out a hand while I in turn sank down beside the couch and locked fingers with her.

"He looked like your father did."

"Uh-huh."

"He was nice. Always. And he let me down easy."

"Is that why you broke down crying and went drinking?"

"You're cold."

"And you need to suck it up." I said it, meant it, with all the love and tenderness I could muster. But I was tired of this shit. She went through men like candy. The wrong kind of men that wanted her for the wrong reasons. Every time she would pretend that it was okay, that there was a love there similar to what she had with the man she called my father. Every time she would glorify them and idealize them in her mind. Then when the men got tired of her and threw her away, I was supposed to feel sorry for her when she knew better in the first place?

No. That's not how it worked. Ten years of this… That was more than enough.

So I sat a little longer with her in silence before getting up and tugging on her twiggy arms. "Come on. Let's go to bed."

"What if I just died here?"

"I'd die with you. But not without getting some sleep first."

"You're the only one I can count on anymore, Riku. The only man in my life I can still count on."

But I'm still a boy, I wanted to say. Even if I didn't like admitting it. Still a boy, still sixteen, still growing up.

Sometimes she forgot that. Sometimes she counted on me too much. Why couldn't she see that?

Our apartment complex was small. Maybe twenty-five to thirty people hidden away from the world, just barely getting by. There was the A Building then the B Building directly across from each other, separated only by a pitiful span of sidewalk and parking lot where a variety of cars huddled together. The streets, the lot, the walls—all of it was a dull brownish gray. It wasn't so much worn out and tiring as it was depressing. I'd been raised in this one apartment, comfortable with it and yet sick of it at the same time. Same old people, every day, same faces coming and going. Here, there was no such thing as variety.

That didn't keep me from taking pictures.

I already told you I tell stories through pictures. I take one moment in time and make it my own, isolate it forever. That's another amazing thing about photos. They're forever. Always.

I would snap pictures of the cars lined by each other in the parking lot. I'd snap pictures of the children's park across the street, of the forest behind it. I'd snap pictures of the street leading from my apartment, of the different buildings in the complex. The mail room, the laundry room, the front desk which was really just a large supply closet with a desk inside.

Most of the time, though, you'd find me snapping pictures of people who usually didn't know I was photographing them in the first place. Something about being able to capture someone's true face through a lens when they were unaware gave me a rush.

That was why, every day, you'd find me leaning over the second floor railing of B Building, looking down onto the parking lot with my camera in hand. Like today. I usually came out around seven, maybe seven-thirty if I got up later, snapping away while waiting for the bus. The birds were out, chirping their obnoxious songs. A few other familiar faces were out and about, leaving for work. For the most part, it was quiet. Nothing new, nothing different, nothing—

Oh, wait. Who was that?

Just below I could spot a face I didn't recognize along with another I vaguely remembered. The latter was a realtor. If memory served me correctly…yeah, she used to be a friend of Mom's. She came her often enough for me to considered them—at least at that time—close friends, but she showed up less and less unless she was giving potential new "neighbors" a tour. The stranger with her must have been on one such tour.

Said stranger was blonde, her hair cut short. Like, short, short and slicked back. Save for two large, defiant strands of hair that hung in the air like antennae. Weird. Her makeup looked fresh, light and dark at the same time, and yet it didn't seem like too much like when Mom went out on a night on the town. She had on lacey stockings and a plaid green and black miniskirt, coupled with a black T-shirt that read "Every Inch a Woman." Black thigh boots, a black winter coat even though it wasn't that cold out today, a matching purse dangling from her shoulders…

Beautiful and dangerous, I thought. That was the first thing that crossed my mind. Something about her was off…scared me, almost.

The blonde and the realtor came to a stop in front of our building, talking. Something or other about rent and air conditioning. I just watched for a moment before aiming my camera their way, at the yellow haired stranger. Just one picture. Something new, something different. Something—

"Hey there, cutie."

And I stopped myself, because she was looking up now.

I blinked for a moment, lowered my camera before taking in the strange woman's blue-green gaze. Her lips were curved into a half smirk, half greeting smile. She eyed me up and down, hands on her hips. "Is that your way of saying hello, or are you just some sort of stalker?"

I didn't say anything to that, simply remaining still. To be honest, I was a bit unsure what to say.

Thankfully, the realtor—why could I never remember her name?—spared me some embarrassment and shot me a warming smile. "That's Riku, one of the people living here at Rhine Wood. He's a photographer."

The blonde never took her eyes off of me. "So you know him?"

"I'm…acquainted with his mother, yes."

"So you want to take pictures for a living?" This last question was directed at me. I wasn't comfortable with the way her gaze was raking through me. Something with her eyes…

I shrugged some of the discomfort away. "Dunno."

"Well, maybe you could practice taking photos of me. I'm a model, you know."

"Oh yeah?"

"S'right."

"What's a model doing in a dump like this?"

She smiled in an amused way, eyes almost cat-like the way they narrowed. The realtor gave a polite (albeit strained) grin before clearing her throat and touching the blonde's arm. "Oh, he's joking. Rhine Wood's a wonderful place to live for someone just starting out. Here, I'll show you one of the vacant…"

And her voice was trailing and growing quieter because now they were both disappearing underneath the pass by the stairs, out of view. The blonde woman's gaze was still burned into my brain… I glanced at my watch.

Seven fifty-six. Four more minutes until the bus showed up. Sighing, I turned my camera off and headed back to my apartment to get my backpack.

Only later did I realize I hadn't taken a picture of the mysterious blonde woman.

I've been described as emotionally constipated by my friends before—and I use the term friends rather loosely, now that I think about it. They're more like people I stick to like glue because I don't feel like finding someone else to hang with. Or maybe it's because I don't have anyone else to hang with. Who knows?

Those two tell me that I need to loosen up, maybe find that special someone who can crack me open like a walnut and learn about all the nitty-gritty inside. They tell me I'm not expressive enough, at least not emotionally, that I keep too many things bottled up. It's usually Naminé spouting crap like that, though. She figures she can get me talking about my feelings. Every guy needs to open up and talk about his feelings every once in a while. Or something like that. Kairi's advice? Get laid. Gotta love that girl sometimes.

"Seriously, you need a girlfriend," the red head muttered during lunch that day. I hadn't heard her over the background chatter of students at first, though, so I cupped my hand around my ear and tilted my head her way.

She took her pretty little hands, cupped them around her mouth, and repeated herself. "I SAID YOU NEED A GIRLFRIEND!"

"Damn, girl, you don't gotta scream."

"Or a new boyfriend. What ever happened between you and—"

"Don't say his name."

If it had been anyone else, I'm sure they would have looked hurt; Kairi was used to me snapping at her when it came to him, though. Why was she always bringing him up? Her and Naminé. Drove me insane. I didn't want to talk about him, didn't even want to think about him, that yellow haired little bas—

"Babe, can I borrow three dollars?"

Naminé had showed up then and snapped me out of my thoughts. Her hair was done up in a bun today. It looked cute with her outfit, a thin white blouse with a pink and lavender floral print and a white jean skirt. I've never seen a girl pull of a white jean skirt like Naminé. And, of course, white wedge heels, same as the black pair Kairi wore today. Actually, were they wearing the same blouse? Yeah, they were. Whenever I saw them side by side, they always looked like color coordinated siblings rather than partners. They had this thing with dressing similarly to each other, and the funny thing about it was that it was always unintentional. They could be models, maybe for those teen fashion mags. Maybe I should take a picture…

Naminé dumped her purse and books—she always had an ass load of books in her arms—on the round table beside Kairi before leaning down to plant a small peck on the red head's cheek. Kairi returned the kiss before digging around in her own purse. "I thought you usually packed lunch?"

"I do, but I woke up late this morning," Naminé replied. She took the money her girlfriend handed her with a smile. "Thanks! Be right back."

And she was. We had watched her scamper off to the lunch line and back with a paper tray of crinkle fries and what passed as a sandwich in this death trap they called a cafeteria. The entire time I noticed a perkiness about her, in her step, in that dimply grin spread on her face.

"What are you so happy about," I asked the moment the blonde took a seat, snatching one of her fries.

She bounced a bit in her seat, grinning wider. "Yuffie gave me three invites for a party tonight at the Myst, and we have to go."

Kairi's eyes widened. "W…wait, seriously?"

"I know!"

Before they could continue with their fangasm fest, I asked, "What's Myst?"

Instantly the two shot me identical stares as if I had sprouted an extra head. I had two pairs of crystalline eyes boring into my skin, almost making me jump back in my seat.

"Honestly, Riku." Kairi shook her head. "It's a private night club."

"The private night club," her blonde counterpart added, taking a small bite of her sandwich. "The party's for one of Yuffie's friends—"

"I hate that girl," I muttered. Naminé just rolled her eyes.

"You won't even have to be around her; the place is huge! Plus, we won't have to worry about not being old enough to get in. It's sixteen and up tonight." It was here her grin returned. "Yuffie's friend, can't remember her name, she has the whole place rented out for the night and it's invite only."

"And you have to dress up." Kairi eyed me up and down, making a 'tsk' sound before jokingly replying, "You can handle that, can't you?"

"Oh, bite me," I said with a slight smirk. "Maybe I'll just show up naked."

"God—please don't. Wait, how are we getting there?"

"Yuffie said her cousin would give us a ride," Naminé explained. "She works as a bartender there and can usually pull a few strings, so sometimes she gets Yuffie in for free."

Naminé was rummaging around in her purse as she spoke, and soon she was pulling out the alleged invites her head sore of a friend had given her. She handed one to either of us so we could examine them further. They were a little smaller than an average sized index card, completely black on both sides with gold and red letters printed on. Myst in gold, capitals, some sort of funky font that took up most of the front. Underneath that was the address, a number for the club. Simple yet elegant. I liked the way it felt in my hand.

Flipping it over, I eyed the cropped photo of the club itself. Well, the dance floor. It was a wide expanse of black tile, peppered with neon rainbow lights. Off to the side you could make out just a little of the bar, the rounded stools. No people, but that was fine because it was still a breathtaking shot.

If anything, I'd go just for the chance to get a few pictures of this place myself.

"It's not going to be anything huge," Naminé went on. "It's a random just for the heck of it party, I think, at eight. Oh."

She paused, causing Kairi and me and look up questioningly. A weird grimace crossed her face and she bit her bottom lip for a moment. "But you might not want to come, Riku"

I arched a brow at her. "Why?"

"'Cause I heard…certain persons might be there that you probably won't want to see. Maybe. I'm not entirely sure, so…"

Kairi scowled, stealing another fry from the girl's tray. "Though I'm sure there won't be a problem if you swallow your pride and just talk to R—"

"Don't fucking say his name," I snapped, which only caused her scowl to broaden.

"Your own fault."

"Your own fault," I mimicked. "I don't need relationship advice from a lesbian."

"Says the bisexual."

"Oookay!" Naminé waved a fry at the both of us, puffing her cheeks out. "Are you coming to the party or not?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yes, Christ. I'll see you there." I shot a knowing glance Kairi's way. "And I don't care if he's there or not."

She just rolled her eyes, munching on another fry with her other hand pressed to her cheek. "Uh-huh."

The music was killing my ears.

It was blaring and beating at my body, but that was alright. I actually liked the feeling. Like music was playing inside of you. There were limbs tangled and bodies pressing and grinding against each other to the beat of Rihanna. What was it called…Only Girl in the World. Yeah, I liked that song. It was meant to be danced to, jumped and sung along with.

I'd gotten my own ride here, a taxi, instead of riding with Naminé, Kairi, and that Yuffie girl. (Really. She rubbed me the wrong way.) All I had had to do was mention the word "party" afterschool and my mom had merely said, "Don't stay out too late," and handed me thirty bucks. Sometimes her not giving two shits had its benefits.

But back to the music. The dance floor. I wasn't on it myself, but hanging around by the bar with a few other non-dancers who were chatting with one another. I had my camera out, had the lens aimed this way and that as I snapped away.

Some of these kids I recognized from school. No, I didn't know them personally, but I knew their faces, saw them roam the hallways sometimes, or at basketball games. The rest were older kids, maybe even in college. People I didn't know and didn't care to know. It was a school night, but the way they were going at it on the dance floor it was clear they didn't give a damn. There was a raw energy as they moved, possibly from the music, most likely from sipping one too many drinks. (No, they weren't serving alcohol at the bar tonight, but that didn't stop some from bringing their own.) It was fierce. Contagious.

Neon lights flickered on and off, swimming across the bodies and the floor and walls. Red, green, blue, purple. Mostly gold and orange. And when the lights periodically formed an outline of a star on the dance floor, the people started whooping and hopping up and down on it. Ha! Almost made me want to get my ass up there and make a fool of myself. I had spotted Naminé and Kairi somewhere in the mix, intimately close, hair whipping about and arms flailing in the air as they lost themselves with the others. And I had locked gazes with him at one point, only for a brief moment; he had some pretty young thing with him, heading somewhere across the room. But he'd quickly scowled and averted his gaze, and I followed suit.

The song changed again. Usher. Or Ne-Yo, whoever. Another pop song, people adjusting their movements to its rhythm. I stopped taking pictures then, because something caught my eye. Someone.

I mean, she really caught my eye.

She almost blended in with the background, save for the lights, because of all the black she was wearing. A long sleeved blouse, lacey, from some silky material. A matching skirt that came down well above her knees but was far from being too short; there were lavender frills on the bottom, just slight. Then she had boots that hugged her legs like I don't know what. The clothes were nice, but it was her face that drew my attention more.

Even from this distance, even with the lights flashing on and off like they did, I could tell her eyes were the same deep blue as Kairi's or Naminé's. Wide. Unfocused, maybe. And her hair was just a chocolate drape that fell around her round face, down to her waist. Something about her face sucked me in, like the model lady from this morning. Only she didn't have the dangerous air about her, had an almost innocent aura. Something about her face.

She was pretty.

She stumbled her way towards the bar but didn't make it very close. Then a red haired stranger, wild hair spiked back, showed up. He was some older guy with gray skinny jeans sagging against his thin hips and T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off— wasn't there a dress code?— who had sauntered over to her and grabbed her wrists. There was a playful look in his green eyes as he tugged her back, away from the crowd, towards the back exit. And the girl was pulling back, saying something I couldn't hear over the noise, looking confused and maybe a little upset. Scared? It was hard to see her face now, with other people dancing in the way. I saw that he didn't let her go, though. Dragged her out the door, had her stumbling about behind him in her heeled boots.

I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I watched them. I waited a moment before strapping my camera to my wrist and following them.

It was chilly out. It always got colder during the night, especially during late autumn. It was a little lighter out here than it was outside, but it still took a minute for my eyes to adjust. The streets, the sidewalk, were empty. Street lamps were hanging above almost sinisterly, staring down at me as I looked this way and that. Where had they…?

"W-wait... Axel, wait."

Ah, in the alley.

That was the girl's voice? She sounded…a little funny. Her voice was breathy, a little slurred. She said something else, but I didn't quite catch it. Then the red haired stranger, this Axel, whispered one simple word in a tone that sent a slight ripple through my body:

"Relax."

I wasn't close enough to see anything, wasn't sure if I should get close enough to see anything. I heard movement around the corner, just feet away, and I waited. Worried. Then the girl's breath hitched and she gave a sharp, "No!"

Is he about to rape her?

That was my first thought. That's what got me moving. I had planned on heading into the alley and stopping whatever it was this perverted red head was doing to her, that beautiful girl. I stopped, though—maybe out of cowardice, maybe because I wasn't sure if what I thought was going down was actually going down. I stopped just enough to peer around the corner and froze at what I saw.

The red head was on his knees, had her skirt lifted up. And her knees were spread enough for him to put his mouth on her sweet spot, to get her weak enough to press her back to the brick wall and moan just the slightest bit. And she had her fingers in his hair, her own head tilted back and those soul sucking eyes closed tight as he sent her to heaven and back. And he was just smirking as he sucked, staring up at her with those green eyes, and it wasn't really her I was looking at but him. He was…kind of hot.

Then I saw him bobbing his head back and forth, saw just what it was he had in his mouth, and my jaw dropped.

The she was actually a he.

And I didn't know what to think then because all thoughts left me and all I could do was stare with flustered cheeks as the red head, this Axel, gave this chick— this beautiful guy, a blow job.

I mean… Holy… Wow.

At that point I figured it didn't matter if it was consensual or not, and if I stayed any longer I ran the risk of being found out and getting caught up in even more awkwardness.

So, still shocked, I quietly slipped away and headed back inside.