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Midnight Sun
By Xandra
Chapter One: Masks
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"You keep makin' that face and it'll stick that way," Marny hissed, cruelly, "And then you'll be that ugly for the rest of your life."
Madison looked down at his little sister, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not making a face...oh, wait a second..." The implication finally caught in his mind and he scowled at her. "HEY!"
She cackled, awfully, then dodged his hand as it came at her, aimed for her ponytail. It missed and his knuckles cracked painfully against the window above her head, making him wince. "Ha, ha!" she exclaimed. "You missed, Maddi!"
He snarled, then went to grab at her again, but his mother's voice made him pause.
"Madison, honey, please don't kill your sister. Wait until we get to the new house."
He sighed and sat back as Marny grinned at him, then stuck her tongue out, victoriously. He went to return the favor, but Mom eyed him in the rear- view mirror and he refrained, settling to pout as he babied his sore fist. "Mom, why did we have to leave, anyway?" he asked, whiningly.
She sighed, brushing a lock of hair that had escaped the tight bun on the back of her head behind her ear as she turned the next corner, taking them past a colorful sign with the town name on it. "Baby, you know I didn't want to move us, but Mr. Finch was getting mean, and our neighbors kept having those parties all night. Between that and your getting beaten up every other day, I couldn't see any other alternative but to move us. Besides, our old house was worn and my business was scarce there, but the new house is in perfect condition, I hear, and the people in this town don't have any dressmakers."
He had scarcely heard the last part after the mention of the constant abuse he had gone through back home. He blushed, sadly sighing, as he remembered being thrown into the mud just last week for no apparent reason. It was true; he got beat up a lot because he looked like an easy target, and honestly, he was one. He couldn't defend himself, he barely weighed over one hundred pounds and he had the all-around attitude of a meek adolescent girl. So, he got beat up. Ah, well. No more of that now, hopefully.
As the old, green station wagon coasted through the town, Madison turned his attention to the streets, where kids Marny's age were playing kick-ball and boys his own age were hanging out, playing hacky-sac and talking animatedly. He sighed. He hadn't had friends since third grade, and now as a sophomore in high school, that was over seven years he had been by himself. Certainly, he tried to be nice and draw friends, but the only people he managed to draw were bullies and girls looking for something to pity. That wasn't what he wanted. When faced with the choice of being beaten and pouted over like a dog and being alone, he'd rather be alone.
Of course, he wasn't really that type. He WANTED friends, so badly that he dreamt about them, wishing for someone--anyone--to understand him, to be nice to him, to spend time with him. Anyone at all would do--he just didn't want to be alone for the rest of his life.
When Marny had been born, he had been mistaken to think that she could be his friend. HA! She lived to torment him, and though she was five years younger than he was, she was damn good at it. What's more, she was more masculine than he was. Imagine, an eleven-year-old girl, even! She wore jeans and torn T-shirts with backward hats and ponytails every day, while he attempted to dress well, and her room was always a sty, while his was always tidy. This only added to his low self-esteem; his baby sister was like his older brother, constantly picking on, insulting and even injuring him. It was bad for his ego!
The worst of it, however, was that after his parents had divorced and his father had moved away, he had actually told him to his face that his sister was the son he had never had. That had hurt so badly that he had burst into tears right there in front of the man, and that hadn't really helped his image, especially because his father had instantly started badgering him for it, saying, "Oh, poor little girl's crying! Gosh, I feel so bad! I made the poor little GIRL *CRY*! Boo-hoo, you goddamn pansy--sometimes I wonder if the doctor circumcised you too high and completely took your dick off! Do you even HAVE one anymore? I doubt it. Next thing, you'll be wearing dresses and writing in pink crayon!"
That had made it worse, and he, fourteen at the time, had bawled like a baby until Marny did the first righteous thing she had ever done for him and called their mother to come pick him up. Now, he didn't talk to his father, though his sister was constantly writing and calling the old man. Just thinking about that awful old man made him feel nauseous and depressed.
"Madison? Maddi, are you all right?"
He jumped, then looked at his mother, who was eyeing him curiously in the rear-view. He sighed, nodding. "Uh-huh."
"He's doing that zoning thing," Marny sneered, once again drawing his ire. If it weren't for the fact that she was smaller than he was and female, the little brat never would have lived to SEE eleven. "It's a blonde thing."
"I am NOT blonde," he spat, folding his arms. "And I'm not zoning...I'm thinking."
She cackled, mercilessly. "Yeah, don't hurt yourself!"
"Marny!" their mother exclaimed, making her jump. "If you don't stop that right now, I'll pull this car over!"
She smirked at Madison, who quickly changed gears from hating her to ignoring her. He turned toward the door on his side of the back seat, sighing and letting his forehead rest against the cold glass as Marny once again started with her verbal onslaught. "You need Mom to defend you because you're such a baby," she hissed in his ear. His hand twitched reflexively, but he resisted the urge to smack her away and sat perfectly still, his eyes locked on the deep blue sky. "No wonder Dad doesn't want you--what a wuss."
He winced, closing his eyes and attempting to tune her out, but it didn't work. He heard it nonetheless, and it brought tears to his eyes.
She scoffed. "You ARE just a baby. Crying! Ha, no wonder you don't have any friends."
The car screeched to a halt and their mother turned around in her seat, leering at the brown-haired little girl. "Marny, you leave him alone NOW or I will put you over my knee and beat your ass until it's purple, you HEAR me, little girl?!"
She scoffed and sat back in her seat, folding her arms and scowling. She didn't comment, thankfully.
Madison scarcely noticed that this had happened--he was too busy trying to wipe the tears from his eyes, but it was a futile effort, because he couldn't stop crying. How embarrassing. He felt his face heat up as his mother turned to look at him, her eyes full of pity, as usual.
"Oh, are you all right, honey?"
"I'm fine," he said, trying to keep the whimper from his voice. He could almost hear Marny's cruel thoughts about him and her laughter, and it only made him feel further withdrawn. Sighing, he drew his knees into his chest as the car pulled back onto the road, resting his chin between his knees and closing his eyes. Why did life always have to hurt so much? He was supposed to be immune to this--after all, he WAS male--but he wasn't. He cried like a girl and whined too much and he knew it, but it was just him and he couldn't change it, no matter how he tried. Marny was right; he WAS a wuss.
"Baby," his mother began, "You know, if you have a problem, you can talk to me."
"I'm FINE," he said, stiffly, wiping his eyes. He heard his sister snicker and it was all he could do to keep from attacking her right there.
"All right," she sighed. "Okay, I get it. Sorry."
He sighed too, then looked out the window again. He immediately sat up and blinked as they passed the local high school, which was buzzing with activity. It seemed to be lunch period, because the students were walking around outside and hanging near the shadow of the building. Unlike most schools, there was no uniform or dress code, so they were all in normal clothing, and the social groups were well differentiated. In the shadow of the massive building was the rebel kids, smoking and fighting, and in the direct sunlight in front of everyone was the popular kids, and between talk of the football game and boys, it was pretty confusing. The antisocial children were gathered under a tree, meditating or whatever it was they did, and the outcasts were in little groups near the fence, talking and comparing notes from classes. It was a real school community, unlike the one he had come from. "Wow..." he whispered, absently.
"That's your new school, honey," his mother said, smiling back at him. "Zaide Izumuro High School. I hear the kids call it Zi High around here. Looks like a nice place, ne?"
He nodded, slowly. "Yes..."
"You'll NEVER fit in there."
"MARNY!"
"Sorry, Mom."
As they came to a stoplight, his eyes locked on a pair of boys that were neither complementary nor clashing standing on the corner. They drew his attention immediately. One was tall and well-built, garbed in grungy street- clothes and beaten sneakers with chains hanging off his belt, wearing his blue-tinted hair slicked back with a single twisted bang hanging down near the left side of his face. He looked like a joker. The other boy, however, was short and slight of physique, clad in a traditional blue, Japanese school uniform and wearing his straight, pale blonde hair down over his shoulders, framing his cute face nicely. He looked sensible, and as they stood at the crosswalk, the former of the two eating a cheeseburger, he counseled his companion on something that seemed important. Saying that they were mismatched would be the understatement of the century, but they had an odd affinity with each other.
They passed them and he sat back in his seat, sighing again. "Are we almost there, Mom?" he asked, absently looking back at the boys as they crossed the street and headed for the school.
She nodded. "Yes, the house is maybe a block from here."
He tried to smile, but his face refused to follow the command, so he once again settled to pout. //I hope I make some friends there,// he thought.
The station wagon turned and stopped in front of a one-level house, parking beneath a large, imitation cherry tree, whose limbs were covered with huge, fluffy pink blossoms that dropped their petals when the wind blew past, littering the yard beautifully. "We're here," their mother said.
Madison looked up at the tree, a weak smile crossing his face as he absorbed the beauty, then turned and looked past his sister at the house. The tiny smile widened into a genuine one.
It was one-story, painted a pale, sunshine-yellow and trimmed with blue shutters around all the windows. The flowerbeds lining the front walls of the house were filled with blossoming rose bushes yielding beautiful roses of all colors, and the little stone walkway leading from the tree to the front door was lined on either side with little bushes and flowers. It was the picture of a little girl's dream house.
"It's so cute," he said, smiling.
His mother nodded, then circled to the back of the wagon and opened it up, grabbing her suitcase and a box. They didn't have much, because they hadn't had the money to pay for a van to bring their furniture, but that was okay. The man who had sold them the house had left them most of his furniture anyway, or so he had said. "I thought you'd like it."
"I do," he agreed. He grabbed his duffel bag from the back seat along with a suitcase and looked at her. "Can we go in now?"
"Of course, dear."
"I miss home already," Marny muttered, grabbing her backpack and a box of her stuff.
He smirked. For once, SHE was miserable, and though he understood her missing home, he was somewhat happy for her unhappiness, wrong as it was. He followed his mother up the front walk to the stoop, then looked back at his sister, who was leaning against the car while Mom worked on unlocking the door. "Are you sleeping outside?" he asked, sharply.
She scowled. "Oh, go paint your toenails, pansy."
"MARNICA ROBERTSON!"
Madison didn't reach to the comment, because, though it hurt, he knew his sister would get reamed for it. He watched as his mother quickly went after the bratty little girl, then turned himself and finished unlocking the door, pushing it open and stepping inside. He paused and smiled again. It was absolutely adorable! //Well, at least the house is a good thing,// he thought, grinning.
He quickly took a tour of the small residence, moving from his position in the entrance down into the living room, which was a large, open area set in a sunken depression of the floor, then back out of there and into the small kitchen. It did indeed have almost all of its appliances, and to the back of the kitchen was a door leading into the garage. From there, he turned and exited the kitchen, passing a sliding-glass door that led into the back yard on the way, then headed off down a hallway near the front door, which bent in an L shape, starting at the top of the arm from where he stood. There were four doors, one to his right in the wall, one in the corner, one next to that and one at the very end of the hall. It turned out that they were two bedrooms, the master bedroom and the bathroom, in that order. All in all, the place was tiny, but it was quaint, and furnished to a small extent.
He picked the second bedroom, the one that stood out most to him, and went inside, setting his things down. There was a pair of twin-sized mattresses stacked one on top of the other and a small desk near the window, but that was all. He sighed, then turned and quickly went to the car to fetch the rest of his stuff.
Marny took the room next to his, grudgingly, and, of course, their mother took the master bedroom. They spent the afternoon unpacking the station wagon and setting their things up the way they wanted them, then ordered pizza for a late lunch around noon. The phone-lines were already hooked up, and the furniture was there, so nothing really serious was needed, except a microwave and some food, but that was easily fixed.
Mom found a phone book and decided to enroll both Marny and Madison in the local schools by phone, so that kept her busy for a while. As she rummaged through the boxes for social security cards and health records, the siblings enjoyed the cable their kind landlord had left them, but that didn't last long. Soon as that was done, they were dragged off to the local grocery store, and spent several hours there, picking up as much food as they could fit in the wagon before coming back.
By the time they were all done, it was five p.m. and all of them were thoroughly ready to relax. Marny was so tired that she actually left Madison alone as they sat in the living room, watching some sitcom in absolute silence as their mother made dinner. To him, it was a relief. Not hearing her voice for the first time in six hours was a blessing.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang, but Marny was half-asleep at this point, and Madison scarcely heard it before his mother began fussing over their not getting it. He got up and followed his mother to the door, curiosity propelling him.
She peeked out the peephole. "Oh," she said, blinking. "I wonder who that is." She opened the door and Madison's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
It was one of the boys he had seen on the corner earlier this morning, the cute one with the pale platinum hair that framed his face. //I wonder what he wants,// he thought, absently.
The boy smiled, warmly, at them, then offered his mother a hand, which she accepted. "Good evening, ma'am," he said, politely. He had a soft, handsome voice and innocent hazel eyes that shone in the bright illumination of the porch light. His hair was glossy and well-conditioned, brushing his shoulders lightly in the breeze. Something about him was enrapturing. "My name is Milo Corinthian; I live just down the block here. I came to welcome you on behalf of our neighborhood."
She smiled. "Oh, that's sweet of you Milo, and thank you. I'm Emily Robertson, and this is my son, Madison." She pulled him forward, surprising him and making him blush with embarrassment. "Madison, ask the boy to be your friend."
"MOTHER," he said, tensely, blushing further.
Milo laughed, good-naturedly. "I'd be honored, Mrs. Robertson."
"Miss."
"My mistake, MISS Robertson." He offered him a hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Madison." He smiled, warmly.
He was about half a head shorter than Madison, so he wasn't intimidated by this boy--oddly enough, though he looked confident, he could somehow sense a slight tentative air in this young man. He accepted his hand, gently, trying to force away the annoying blushing from his mother's comment. "Yes, the pleasure is mine," he said, politely.
Milo beamed, then brought a box out from behind his back, offering it to Mom, who excepted it. "A gift," he said, "From my home to you."
She blinked, then opened it and smiled. It contained a box of cookies and a toaster. "Just what we needed. Thank you, Milo."
"I don't usually go around giving out toasters," he said, wryly smiling, "but a friend insisted that I should make the gesture. I made the cookies myself."
"You bake?"
"Yes, ma'am. I clean too. Odd for a boy, I know, but call it a hobby." He shrugged, smiling.
Madison liked him already. He was nice and amusing in his own sense. He privately wondered how he had become friends with that blue-haired gang- banger, but he didn't think much on it.
His mother stepped out of the way, "Come in, please. Are you hungry? I'm making dinner now."
"Oh, I don't want to intrude--"
"Not at all, you sweet boy, come in."
Milo shrugged, then politely slipped his leather shoes off and entered. He was still wearing that uniform-style outfit from this morning but that was fine. He pulled the look off well. He looked around, smiling. "I never knew this house was so pretty."
Marny stirred on the couch and sat up, then looked at him, rubbing her eyes. She paused, then blinked and rubbed her eyes again. "Wow! You're cute!"
Milo laughed. "Thank you, but I'm spoken for."
She frowned. "Figures. Mom, what's a cute guy like that doing so close to a smudge like HIM?"
Madison frowned, but Milo shook his head, smirking. "Your little sister, I gather?"
He nodded. "Marny, meet Milo."
Madison's mother peeked out of the kitchen. "Dinner's ready."
Marny bounced up off the couch and stepped out of the living room, then grabbed Milo by his hand and carted him into the dining room. "You can sit by me."
He laughed. "All right."
Madison followed, hesitantly. He was still rather shy when he came to people, but this Milo character seemed like a good person. Hey, if he could stand Marny, he had to be pretty virtuous!
"So, Milo, what kind of children go to Zi High anyway?"
The boy took his seat between Madison and Marny, then accepted a plate that was offered. "Thank you. Well, Miss Robertson...a great assortment, actually. We have a wonderful honor system--half the school is on the honor roll and I don't believe we have one failing student. Certainly, we have a few bad apples--I mean, what community doesn't?--but they'll pull through eventually, I assume. I mean, no one is REALLY bad."
Marny raised an eyebrow. "You're really assertive."
Milo smiled, shrugging. "No, I...I just have faith in people."
"Well, that's a very rare virtue, Milo," Mom said. "You must be very popular at school."
"Oh, no, not me. I'm barely noticeable to the popular kids, but that's okay." He shrugged. "Certainly, I would LIKE them to, but in some cases people would rather ignore me for their own reasons. I've been told that some are jealous of my ability to be happy, while others resent my good grades, and so forth. Still, I see no problem with that."
"Some people are just jealous because they're petty," Marny said. Madison was personally amazed at the intelligent statement his sister had made, but he quickly brushed it off. "They're mean because they're not happy with themselves or their abilities."
"Unfortunately, with most bitter people, this is true," Milo agreed. "Though all people are good at heart, many have troubled pasts or damaged emotions, and this often times forces them to act out and rebel. I have developed a philosophy on this concept. My philosophy is that every person wears a theoretical mask, and while some people's masks clearly show what is on their minds and in their hearts, others tend to have many masks with which they hide themselves behind. Now, in real life, attitude, posture, almost anything can act as an indicator for a mask used to hide the wearer. For example, take a nice boy that endured abuse as a child. After escaping this, he would be apprehensive when it came to trusting people, and in turn would keep a barrier, such as a mask, between himself and the people around him to protect him from being hurt again, though it tends to be more spiritual and psychological than physical. The kind boy might put up a front of aggressiveness and foreboding anger that frightens others away, and when shown kindness, though he may be grateful, he would inadvertently shun it in fear of his defenses being breached. So, you see, the people that tend to seem jealous and angry may not be--it may just be their mask." He paused and his eyes projected that he suddenly realized how deeply into his mind he was allowing the rest of them. He blushed, slightly, covering his mouth. "Oh, I'm prattling on again. I apologize."
"Oh, no," Mom said. "That's fine! I like your view." Madison and Marny nodded their agreement. "Go ahead, continue."
"Yes, ma'am. Well, all I am trying to say, I guess is that, nowadays, rarely anything is as it seems, and sometimes, you just have to take a chance, if you know what I mean. Not every person is as he may appear, and like the old statement 'You can't judge a book by its cover', often times you cannot accurately judge someone by their mask alone. Some people out there seem absolutely evil, and yet they may not be, and then again, they may be just that. Similarly, a nice-looking person may be tortured and angry, hiding it with the opposite. You really don't know, and most of the time, the only way to learn is to get closer to the person to find out what's really behind that mask. There are ways to read the signs of a masked person, however, by posture, attitude, expressions, habits, reactions, et cetera, but learning this takes a while. So, as I said before, the only way to truly and accurately judge someone is to get to know them. However, this is not always so easy, because most people wearing a false mask have a reason, and at times, are defensive of that hidden pretext. It's not unheard of that a person can even become violent and dangerous when the threat of discovery and exposure looms, and it is a rare person that can effectively unmask this type of person without hurting themselves or the other."
****
Dinner went quickly after Milo's speech, and soon enough, he had to head off home, much to Marny AND Madison's disappointment. The young man had come to like this youth very well. He had a strong mind and a sharp view of the world around him.
"Well, you know, Madison will be starting at the high school tomorrow."
Milo's countenance brightened and he looked at him, grinning. "Oh?"
He nodded. "Yes, I...think so...Mom?"
"Yes, dear. Tomorrow at seven thirty a.m. you will be in school again. I picked up your schedule on the way back from the store, while you were asleep in the car."
He sighed, then looked at Milo, who smiled at him. "Hopefully I'll see you there," he said, softly.
The platinum-haired boy nodded, smiling as he approached the front door and slipped on his shoes. "Yes. I can only hope." He shook hands with Madison, then bowed politely to his mother and sister. "Have a nice night, and I hope to see you at school tomorrow, Madison. It was a pleasure meeting all of you."
"The pleasure was entirely ours," Mom said, smiling.
Milo nodded and bowed again, then swept out the front door and headed off down the walk toward the sidewalk, waving briefly before he disappeared around the corner.
Madison sighed, then turned and headed down the hall toward his room. "I think I'll get to bed early," he sighed. "Night, Mom."
Of course, the woman wasn't letting him go THAT easily. She caught him gently by his shoulders, preventing him from retreating the way he usually did, and turned him to face her, forcing him to look at her with his half- pout set in place. He couldn't help it! Unlike most teens who frowned and scowled when they were depressed, he pouted. She smiled. "Honey, you should talk to me if you have a problem."
//The problem I have you'd never understand, Mom,// he thought. "I'm all right, really. Nothing's wrong."
"Something's wrong all right," Marny said, sneering at him. "Come to think of it, when it comes to you, EVERYTHING is wrong!" She cackled, awfully.
His sensitivity at that moment added to her ego-crushing comment made his heart sink into the acidic pit of his stomach. He closed his eyes and folded his arms across his lower torso in a sad attempt to embrace himself.
Mom helped a bit. "Marny, go to your room and I don't want to hear a damn word out of your mouth until morning unless you're on fire, dying of the plague and being stomped to death by a heard of wild elephants. Go, NOW."
Marny shuffled off, muttering to herself, then shut herself in her room.
Madison sighed, sadly. "Mom, why is it that people attack me for just being me?"
"People are cruel, Maddi," she said, stroking his cheek with her fingertips. She brushed his feathery brown hair out of his face, smiling. "Baby, remember that you are worthwhile, no matter what your sister or the idiots around you say. You aren't weird because of the way you are, but you ARE unique, and if you remember that above all else, no one will be able to touch you."
He sighed, smiling weakly and hugging her. "Thanks."
"Hey, I'm your mother. I have to know these things, dear. Good night."
He nodded, then turned and trudged heavily into his room, not bothering to turn on the light as he nudged the door closed. He paced the span of the room to his bed, sitting on the edge and looking down at the floor a moment before noticing the full-length mirror on the wall across from him. With a heavy sigh, he looked at himself in the mirror.
A young boy looked back at him, his listless gray eyes filled with melancholic shadows and his full lips bent into a sad frown. Just looking at the boy on the other side of the glass made him feel terrible. He was so pitiful. Madison watched as the poor boy brushed his soft, beige hair out of his face and stared back at him, those eyes filling with tears. He looked like a girl, and every time he had this silent meeting with the boy in the looking glass, he realized it was only getting worse. As a child, he had been mistaken for a little girl in funny clothing very often, and even now at sixteen, he still looked somewhat the part. His doctor had said it was perfectly normal for him to be so shapely and slender of countenance and physique at his age--though it wasn't very common, there was nothing wrong with it, he had said. Something about it being in his genes.
Still, as he sat there in the moonlit room, watching the other youth watch him, he privately wondered if this was his mask, as Milo had put it. Was this really what he was on the inside--effeminate, weak, cowardly--or was this just something he put up? He shook his head. No, this was the real him, all right. People saw him for what he was and hated him for it, and besides, he could never have put up such a mask when he really did feel the way he looked. Often times, he felt like a girl. He liked stuffed animals more than model kits, and he would much rather watch a soap opera than a war movie. Some part of him always had him longing for these things. Sometimes he even wondered if he had been meant to be a girl originally and something had been messed up in the transition to make him male!
He sighed, then pushed his hair back out of his face with both hands, grasping his forehead. //Who am I...what am I supposed to do? Do I keep going on as I have, bumbling through life and getting hurt in the process, or do I make myself a mask to try and hide from the world?// He attempted to fight back the tears of his frustration, but his battle was in vain, because moments later, they were streaming down his cheeks in a torrent. He hit the butt of his palm against his forehead, grief and confusion ripping into him again.
As with almost every night he spent in his room alone, he felt as if he were just that--completely alone, with no one to turn to. Certainly, his mother loved him, and his sister...well, she was a brat, so that didn't count...all he had on his side was his mother, and with just one person to defend and stand up for him, he was indeed, for the most part, isolated. His mother made him feel like a baby and his sister made him feel like slime, so what did that make him? Baby slime? No, that wasn't right. He was GIRLY baby slime.
He sighed and fell back on his bed, choking back his tears and burying his face in his hands. //Who...what...am I...?//
~
This night, however, someone else was sharing Madison's pain...
A door opened within a dark apartment, only to be slammed closed harshly moments later, and a lonely figure trudged heavily up to the huge, dove- feather-stuffed bed and fell onto it, sighing heavily. He was drunk again, but not so much as to forget the pain he had attempted to drown with liquor. Needless to say, the bottle of vodka, six bottles of beer and double-shot of tequila had only given him a heavy buzz and made him nauseatingly dizzy, but other than that, he was still very aware of himself. He had even driven back from the club without being pulled over-- even waved to a motorcycle cop who had been watching him without tipping him off that he was drunk.
He sighed as he worked his way out of his sweat-drenched clothes, exposing his bare, bronze flesh to the icy air of the night with a gasp, then stared at the shifting edge of his bed for a moment in an attempt to steady his vision. Once it was only minimally fluctuating, he pulled his aching and tired body head-first into his bed, groaning as the cold satin sheets passed over his clammy skin, which was dampened by a cold sweat that had broken out somewhere between the club and his front door. Covering his face with his hands, he groaned to himself. "Oh...Christ..." he muttered. Thinking hurt his head, so he spoke aloud, just to get the words out of his mind. "What's the matter with me..."
The nights events came back to him in short flashes of colors and noises, showing him various faces he had never seen and places he had been to many times before. Women, alcohol, strobe lights, headlights, music, honking, shouts and laughter--all of it echoed through his mind again and again, taunting him, showing him how foolish he was, and reminding him that this time wouldn't be the last time.
He pushed his long, golden hair out of his face, fisting handfuls of the curls in anger and burying his face in the pillow. "DAMN IT!" he yelled, his words resounding in his ears painfully. He beat his head against the soft cushion, his eyes screwed shut against the painful jarring of his mind. He sighed and forced himself into a sitting position, his head spinning wildly. "What's the matter with me...why do I do this to myself...every time, nothing gets better, nothing is solved, and..." he trailed off as he felt the tears coming to his eyes. He growled and wiped them away, stubbornly. "I won't cry...only the weak cry..." He turned his head and looked into the vanity mirror nearby, seeing his expression and the tears trailing down his cheeks. He sighed and grasped his forehead in his palm, closing his eyes.
//If anyone is weak, it's you,// his mind hissed cruelly at him. //Damn it, you're a man, so suck it up and get hold of yourself!//
"I can't...I can't do it anymore."
//YOU WILL or everyone will know what you really are! Only the weak shed tears!//
He sighed, looking at himself again. "...And I'm weak..."
//You are,// that snide voice agreed, harshly, //But no one will ever know.//
He nodded, swallowing the lump that had developed in his throat. "No one...no one will ever know..." He brushed his curls back again and sighed, a sob wracking his sturdy form. "What have I become...so low that ever liquor can't save me..." He looked in the mirror one last time, then, in a fit of rage, grabbed the closest item-a lamp--and launched it at the pane, cracking it awfully. In the broken sections of the mirror, he could now see himself, all sides of himself, and it was as if the thing was showing him his many facades that he hid behind. Fear, anger, strength...none of them were really him. As he stared at the many reflections, all he could do was cry. //What am I?//
****
To Be Continued
Xandra: Please review if you liked it, and ideas and questions are welcome.
