Title: Glass Roses – Chapter One

Author: Shades of Hades

Date: January, 2005

A/N: This was not the original first chapter, but I decided to change the storie around a bit. I know it seems like the next chapter doesn’t fit in right now, but trust me, in will make sense soon… in chapter three I hope. If not, definally in chapter four. . Anyways, if you want to know the insperation for this storie, read the author’s note in chapter two. By the by, this isn’t betaed…. Oh, and this is going to be SLASH in the future. If you don’t know what that is, it’s the love between two males. I want to warn everyone before they get to far. I’m very proud of this storie, so if I receive a flame from some asshole just because they can’t read warnings, then I’m gonna be very pissed.

My mother and I move a lot. An observer would probably say that we don’t like to be tied down by anything, especially something as trivial as a house. Of course, how things seem is never how they actually are. She’s been running. She’s been running since I was born. Running from relationships, money problems, even the law. I admit, the law maybe my fault in some part, since you do need a child for child abuse, but I can’t deny that some of it I bring on my self. I’m always testing her limits, pushing, and never expecting it when she pushes back. They say you only hurt the ones you love, but sometimes I wonder how I ever made it to be seventeen. I haven’t exactly been the easiest person to live with over the years, but it’s not exactly easy living with a whore. My mother’s never been married, preferring instead to move from man to man, stealing their money and moving on. Once she’s done we move away. I’ve had a rather hard time in school because of this. She’s notorious. And more then once she’s fallen into bed with a married man. That’s not exactly made matters easier for me. Most kids hate me, either because of my mother or because of what I look like. I’ve always been very thin, and short with a feminine face. Lately, I’ve been coloring my hair, what I suppose could be called ‘girly’ colors. I’ve tried to ‘toughen up’ my appearance with tattoos and facial piercing, but still, nothing seems to change changed. I’m often the butt of jokes because of my appearance. I’ve learned to live with it though. I’m not saying it doesn’t hurt every time someone calls me, “faggot” or “freak,” but I’ve learn to lose myself in my school work. Probably the only reason I’ve done so well in school, thus far. The pain practically rolls right off me these days. Sometimes, I think it may be the only reason I’m alive is because everyone needs a scapegoat. But then again, that’s a selfish thought. I suppose if one were to analyze the situation one would likely find me a masochist. The world and I seem to have a sadomasochistic relationship. It’s sick, I know, but so am I.

They say that childhood is the happiest days of a person’s life… If this is so, it’s no wonder I’ve contemplated suicide so many times. However, as I step over the threshold of our new house, I feel for the first time, that things may change. I’m not sure if they well be for the better, but the promise of change in my future excites me and gives me a renewed spirit.

Looking around as my feet hit the marble floor I feel tears come to my eyes. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m finally home.

Taking a break from unpacking I draw myself a nice, hot bath, watching in satisfaction as steam rises off the water. I drop my pants, and slide into the water, relief flooding over my aching muscles. I reach up to turn the cold on, splashing my face with the liquid pouring forth, feeling refreshed after a long day of unpacking. After my face and hair are wet, I turn the hot back on and lean back into the tub, sinking to my chin, then resting my crossed ankles on the front of the tub, carefully avoiding the hot water rushing from the tap.

Giving a deep sigh, I finally take the time to really look at my surroundings.

The bathtub I’m currently using is extremely elegant. It’s separate from the walls unlike bathtubs in normal houses. It’s like a piece of furniture rather then an everyday necessity. The marble surface is cool despite the hot water still being poured into it. An antique tap spills forth the clear liquid, handles on either side just as shinny and graceful as the tap its self. There is a showerhead, but it looks rather out of place in this bathroom, like an afterthought. It is very new and plain. Like a blemish on a perfect face, it seems to stick out like a sore thumb. My eyes wander above the ugly showerhead to the delicately painted ceiling. The person who painted it would probably be turning over in their grave right now if they knew how much it had been chipped and abused over the years. In some spots the paint has faded away completely, leaving only a small trace of gold. Idly, I wonder how my mother mange to buy such an expensive house. Maybe there was something extremely wrong with it? I haven’t noticed anything yet, but then again, I haven’t really had the chance to look around our new home yet.

My eyes are just about to slip shut when I hear my mother’s voice. “Jackson! You little bastard, get your ass down here now!” In seconds I am up and out of the tub, scrambling for my towel. I find my towel, and my fingers are grabbing at it, but it is too late, my feet slip and all of the sudden I feel like I’m falling… My fingers grip my towel hard as I fall back into the tub hitting my head on the side as I do so, my world going black.

When I come to, what I believe to be just short minutes later, I feel hands gripping my sides and my eyes fly open. My head flies around, wildly, looking for the hands, but I find no one there. After a few moments, I settle down and the feeling of the cold hands against my hips leaves. I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize that I am no longer in the water. I look around and realize that I am propped up against the side of the tub and my towel (slightly damp) is draped over my lap.

Gripping my head as I stand, dizziness takes over as the blood rushes to my brain. I stand still for a moment, then wrap my towel around my waist, trying my best to dry off with the wet towel. My mind, however, snaps back to the tub as I realize that I have left the water on and now the clear liquid is flowing over the sides, leaving my clean clothes soaked. I sigh, bending down to turn off the water, then wandering into my room in search of clean pants. I ignore my mother’s screaming as I pull on fresh pants and a t-shirt, my head pounding every time I move. Finally I make my way down the stairs, not really ready to take the abuse I knew my mother was going to give, but not wanting to really think about what had just happened at the same time.