Chapter One

Daniel found himself morbidly amused by the way the hair dye ran red, the colour of blood. It was appropriate, in a twisted way. If not for the dye, he'd most likely be taking the razor from under his bathroom sink and watching the cuts on his arm flow the same colour.

But he wasn't, instead he had chosen to dye his hair yet again, and try to keep his music to a level where it would drown out the sounds of his parents arguing in the background, but not deafen him at the same time. There was a fine line between the two.

He finished applying the dye to his hair, and stepped into the shower, relishing the thought of the warm water helping to drown out his parents voices. It was another reason that he dyed his hair so often.

He hated that his parents fought. He couldn't see a reason for it - didn't want to see a reason for it - and wished more than anything that they would stop. A lot of the time he ended up blaming himself for it, even though he knew that it wasn't really his fault. He'd much rather the cause of their fights be something that he had done, rather than for them to be because his parents simply didn't have the capability to get along any more. That would hurt even more, because he knew that it would lead to inevitable thoughts of his parents divorcing, something that he couldn't bear to think about.

He watched with forced detachment, as the last of the shower water slowly ran from pink to clear, then forced himself to turn the water off and get out.
As soon as his foot touched the cold bathroom tiles, his ears were greeted with a blast of sound: the CD playing on his stereo - Marilyn Manson - and the sound of glass shattering in the kitchen. He cringed involuntarily, then quickly blow-dried his hair so that any remaining dye that he might have failed to rinse out wouldn't get on his clothes, and got dressed.

He pulled a backpack out of his closet, trying to concentrate on the sounds of the music, and with speed that came from large amounts of experience, packed the clothes and books that he would need for school the next day. He looked from his bedroom door, then to his window, trying to decide which way out he would take. Glaring at the door in annoyance, he scrawled a quick note to his parents telling them where he was going, and to not expect him back that night - not that he thought they'd notice he was gone - and placed it on his pillow. Then he turned off his music, and climbed out his window, mentally thanking, as he done many times before, the fact that he lived in a one-story house, and didn't have to tie his bed-sheets together, or do something else equally ridiculous, to get out.

In an addition to his already awful day, it was pouring outside, and it was a twenty minute walk to his friend Taren's house, where he planned on staying. By the time he got there, his clothing was soaked through, and he was shivering with cold. He rang the doorbell loudly, several times in a row, then leant against the wall beside it with his eyes clothes while he waited for someone to let him in.

Taren lived in a huge two story house with his senile, in both Daniel and Taren's opinion, aunt. He had inherited the house four years ago when his mother had died, and as he had only been thirteen, his aunt had moved with him so that she could look after him. Daniel hadn't been friends with him back then, but from what Taren had told him, he had ended up taking care of his aunt, rather than the other way around, something which he had enjoyed greatly, as it meant that he got to literally do what ever he wanted.

Taren opened the door, dressed only in a pair of flannel pajama pants - decorated with cartoon sheep, a fact that made Daniel decide his aunt had bought them for him - and Daniel was hard pressed not to a) drool, and b) comment mockingly on how cute the pajamas were. The way that Taren was glaring at him, however, made him decide that neither option would be a good idea, and he settled for simply smiling sheepishly at Taren, and stepping inside. Before he had the chance to do more than that, Taren grabbed his arm, and dragged him through the house to the bathroom on the first floor, threw a towel at him, and told him to get himself dry and not move until he came back with some dry clothes for him to change into. He flicked the bathroom's heater on before he left, and Daniel relaxed and did as he was told, enjoying the warm air filling the room.

While he waited, he examined his hair in the bathroom mirror, and was pleased to see that the colour hadn't run. The last time that he had gone out into the rain with freshly dyed hair, his face had ended up covered in pale blue streaks. Taren had tormented him about it for days afterwards, leaving Daniel feeling immensely embarrassed. He hadn't given any thought as to whether the red in his hair would run when he left that house, too desperate to simply get out to care about what could happen to his hair.

Taren returned shortly, a pair of old cotton pants, and a black long-sleeved shirt in his arms. Daniel took them happily, grateful that Taren had thought to bring him a long-sleeved shirt - he hated having other people see the scars on his arms - and politely shooed Taren out of the room while he got changed. When he emerged, he was feeling much better, not to mention warmer, than he had been before, and ready to simply curl up into a ball somewhere and go to sleep. He didn't think that Taren would let him do so without an explanation, however, and with a sigh followed Taren up to his bedroom, throwing himself onto Taren's bed as soon as he got there, closing his eyes tiredly.

He was right about Taren not letting him sleep without an explanation, the other teen sat down beside him, and poked him hard in the side.

"What happened this time?" Taren asked, voice flat, as if reciting something by rote. Which, considering the number of times Daniel had shown up at Taren's place when his parent's were fighting, was fairly accurate.

He opened his eyes and sat up, leaning back against the wall beside Taren's bed. "They were fighting again." He explained. "One of them threw something, and it smashed. I left."

Taren nodded, satisfied with the explanation, then reached out and took hold of some of Daniel's hair. It was shoulder-length, and as such, was easy for Taren to run through his hands. "And them fighting is why your hair is now red?" He commented, twirling the strands that he held around his fingers contemplatively.

Daniel nodded, although he had a feeling that what Taren had said was more a statement than a question. "I thought it was time for a change."

"And it successfully distracted you for a while." Taren added.

"It did." Daniel said with a shrug. "But the distraction ran out far too soon. Hence my arrival here."

"Makes me feel special." Taren replied sarcastically, then pulled Daniel into a half-hug when he saw the expression on his face - a mixture of contrition and sadness. "Hey," he said reassuringly. "it's good you came here. Really. And I still think that you should just give up and move in. You spend more time here than you do at your place, and I'm hoping you're happier here."

Daniel shook his head, and relaxed against Taren. Signs of affection from Taren were few and far between, despite the fact that he had been Daniel's best friend for the past year and a half, and Daniel was willing to take whatever he could get. Taren's aunt, in one of her less senile moments, had told Daniel that Taren hadn't liked to show anybody that he cared about them, or even let anybody close, since his mother had died. "I am, but they're my parents, and it's my home, and-"

"You don't want to leave." Taren shrugged nonchalantly, and Daniel wondered how many times they'd had this conversation, and how many more times they'd have it. He'd lost count a long time ago. "That's great. Let's talk about something else."

Daniel smiled slightly at the sudden subject change. Taren's tendency to change subjects at random was something that had always amused and intrigued him, but he had never thought to question it, and always obliged when Taren decided that he wanted to talk about something else. "Fine. What's doing for your birthday?"

"You're buying me chocolate, and I'm going to sleep through it, and pretend that it's not happening."

"You're turning eighteen," Daniel told him, shaking his head in mock-despair. "you can't just pretend it's not happening. Really you should be going out and getting pissed in celebration, but I'll forgive you for not doing that if you at least have a cake."

"Chocolate cake." Taren remarked. "I'll have cake as long as you make sure that it has some sort of chocolate flavouring in it. Otherwise I refuse to have any part in it."

Daniel smiled indulgently, amused at Taren's insistence on having chocolate for his birthday. He was a chocoholic and, in Daniel's opinion, very cute about it. "Yes, there will be chocolate. And if you don't plan on doing anything else, I think I'll come over here and we can maybe eat pizza or something and watch trashy movies. And eat chocolate cake. But we've got to do something for your birthday. Eighteenth only happens once in a lifetime. Can't miss it."

Taren raised an eyebrow at him, an unspoken sarcastic gesture. "I'll take your word on that, because I really don't care either way."

"Excellent." Daniel exclaimed, then yawned, reaching a hand up to cover his mouth, and smiling sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Is ickle Daniel tired?" Taren asked mockingly, ruffling Daniel's hair patronisingly.
"Yes," Daniel replied, pushing Taren's hand away and glaring at his friend. "Ickle Daniel is tired. And going to go to sleep."

"Well don't do it on me. Or my bed for that matter." Taren told him, giving Daniel a sharp push that sent him tumbling onto the floor. "You've got your own room."

Taren had decided that Daniel might as well have his own room in Taren's house, seeing as he spent so much time there anyway. He had officially labeled the bedroom closest to his own as Daniel's, going so far as to stick a sign on the door with his name on it. Daniel had laughed when Taren had shown him, but told him not to get his hopes up, because he still wasn't going to move in. Taren had shrugged and told him that it didn't bother him. He had, in actual fact, been lying, but wasn't about to tell Daniel that. His aunt didn't really count as company, and he found it lonely living by himself.

"Goodnight." Daniel said stiffly, standing up and mock-glaring at Taren.

"'Night." Taren replied quietly. Daniel could feel his eyes on him as he left the room, and couldn't help but wonder what it was that Taren was thinking about.