I hate you.
Nothing in the world makes me sicker than seeing you.
The way you talk, the way you smile at me, the way you live life—
you’re perfect, and I hate you for that.
I don’t want anything to do you with you, but…
Why do I find myself needing you more than ever?

Escaping Fate.
Chapter One

I can hear my mom downstairs calling me, and already I know something’s going to be different.

It’s only eight in the morning—on a midsummer’s Saturday morning, that is—and as I try my best to shut my sense of hearing her summons only increase in volume. I can hear her voice getting louder until my door bursts open, the source of the racket making a complete stop beside my ear.

What a perfect example of the Doppler Effect, I might add.

“Justin, wake up!” my mom says, shaking my arm quite vigorously. I groan, protesting for more sleep, but at the rate my mother’s tan hands are suffocating my wrists there’s no way I’ll be admitted back into the world of happy, undisturbed dreams. I open one eye—the eye closest to her—and I’m quite surprised to see her already dressed, almost as if ready to go to church. My mom’s Asian, though I’m only half, and as she continues to try waking me up I can distinctly make out the flowery patterns on her dress.

“Why?” I ask groggily. Come on—who wouldn’t still be sleepy after being woken up forcefully three hours before a person would normally get up? Not to mention on a weekend morning in the summer, after having just graduated from high school not even a month ago…

“Just get up and I’ll tell you. Though really, I’ve got the best news to share—oh, you’ll be so pleased to hear!” She prances—yes, prances—out of my room, and for a split second I’m tempted to fall asleep once more. However, it’ll probably only end up with my mom returning to repeat her actions once more, and something in the back of my mind tells me I don’t want that. I struggle out of bed, rubbing my eyes as I try to get up. I wonder; is my mother’s great news really worth the three hours I could be sleeping?

Once I’ve slipped into my slippers I slowly make my way across the hardwood floor and to the bathroom. One of the advantages of being an only child is the freedom I get in the house; I don’t have to wait in order to use something—material things, or even the bathroom—and I’m the only one my mom has to think about when she goes shopping. I’m not materialistic in any way though; I absolutely hate new shoes, and generally speaking I only like getting clothes on special occasions.

I shut the door behind me as I enter the bathroom, turning first to the mirror. I look horrible, with my brownish-black hair standing on end and the corners of my brown eyes lined with some white, crusty substance. I take to washing my face first, splashing freezing cold water onto my face—it’s the only way I’d be able to stay awake. After that ritual I unscrew the case for my contacts, opening my eyes wide to place a blue lens into each eye socket—yes, I wear blue contacts because I think they look better. After blinking a few times I grab a comb and tame my hair until the majority of it flattens out.

Once I’m satisfied with my appearance I leave the restroom, deciding to save showering once I’m sure what it is exactly I’m doing. I descend the stairs, still in my slow pace, and I’m frankly shocked at the size of the meal my mother’s already prepared this morning. I have the sudden urge to remind her it’s only time for breakfast, but as she notices me walk on the creaky step she steps forward to greet me, chances ruined.

“Did you take a shower?” she asks, examining me from head to toe, and it is times like these I wish she wouldn’t be so damn observant.

“Tell me what we’re doing first,” I tell him, keeping my original plan in mind. I know she wants me to take a shower so badly—I probably stink right about now—and it’s amusing to watch my mother give in to my requests so easily.

“I had some really good news to tell you, but… I was hoping you’d try some guesses first.” Oh, perhaps one thing I should’ve mentioned… my mom’s got this thing with wanting people to guess what’s happening in her life… something like that, don’t ask.

“Do I have to?” I whine, leaning against the stair’s railing. “I mean after all, it’s your fault I’m up this early. You’re the one inconveniencing me!”

“Guess!” she replies excitedly, completely ignoring the reasoning I have just given her. It’s always this way; she asks me to guess, I try persuading her otherwise, and I end up taking three guesses. Being more persuasive… now there’s a good New Year’s resolution for next year…

“You’re getting yourself on another date?” As you might’ve figured out, my mother is divorced and lives alone with me, but for a least a year now she’s been trying to find herself another boyfriend… Generally I think of parents dating as gross, but she’s only thirty-nine, and it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to have a dad again…

“Better than that!” she exclaims, dooming me to at least another two guesses.

“Uh… you won the lottery?” A legit answer, right…? Though maybe, now that I think of it, it doesn’t score very high on creativity…”

“Hm, I wished. But seriously.”

“Just tell me,” I say to my mom, and she nods, preparing herself to tell me of her supposedly good news—a victory on my part, as I’ve managed to get her to tell me with such a short amount of guesses.

“Well, you remember Colleen, right?” I nod, thought weakly, as my head hasn’t awakened enough to make those rapid head movements… Colleen had been her best friend, as she had never ceased in reminding me; and the two had met in some college class of theirs. The sad story behind it—or at least, that’s how my mother likes to put it—is that once they both graduated from college their lives took separate paths, and neither woman heard from the other again.

“How could I not?” I ask, though my mother doesn’t like the tone in my voice—I can tell by the split-second glare she gave me.

“Anyway, I received an email from her yesterday—who knows how she had gotten my email address, but thankfully she found it—and she told me she would be around the area!” I look at my mother with a bored look, trying to see if I would get anything else out of it… I had been awoken for this?

“Okay…” I say, trailing of my sentence. My mother’s best friend is visiting from God knows where… whoopee-fucking-doo, what awesome news this is…

“They’ll be over for breakfast and maybe lunch… but isn’t it exciting, Justin? I haven’t seen her in at least ten years…!” I nod, barely even trying to sympathize with her emotions. I can’t honestly say I’m capable of empathizing though, as the only thing that qualifies for that position—the position of not being in my life for at least ten years—is my old Care Bear stuffed toy, and for some reason I doubt that’d be an exciting reunion.

Instead, I let my Asian, intellectual side of me speak—sure, I’m being a bit stereotypical to Asians, but I am part Asian, and I still am smart in math… and grammaticism… “You mentioned ‘they’ in your sentence… so is she coming with her husband or something?”

“Oh no, she’s just like me: divorced, with a son about your age. Actually I think he’s just graduated from high school as well.” She goes on talking about how their lives are so similar, but I don’t bother listening. Frankly put, I’m beginning to dislike this Colleen woman… damn sleep killer.

“When do I get some sleep?” I ask, brushing a few strands of hair out of my face. You think by now I’d know not to speak my mind, but it’s probably the only thing I haven’t learned about in regards to ethics in conversation… though in an awkward situation I’m sure I’d shut up somehow.

“Are you gonna take that shower now?” my mom asks, deciding to ignore my previous one. I sigh, hanging my head out of pure laziness, and as I begin trudging myself back up the stairs I can hear my mother listing off orders and chores for me to follow once I’ve finished. Once I’ve reached the top I have a desire to continue down the hall instead of turning left to drench myself in a cold spray from the showerhead; and for some reason—I might be under someone’s hypnotic spell, I swear—I choose the latter.

I step out of my clothes and into the shower, jumping back in surprise as the cold water hits me without mercy. Generally I dislike morning showers—washing in the evening is much more pleasing—and by far this morning isn’t any different. For one thing I can’t find a bar of soap anywhere, I seem to have run out of shampoo, and, when I’ve finished, there isn’t a towel anywhere in sight. So naturally, I poke my head out of the bathroom and call for one.

“Mom, I need a towel!”—but just my luck! I can hear voices downstairs—voices other than my mom’s—and I peer down the staircase’s length I can distinctly see and hear heels walking toward my direction. Clearly not my mother’s heels, as she would never wear something like that; but have some decency to take your shoes off at the door, woman! Though none of this helps my need for a towel… I guess using my shirt wouldn’t be a bad idea…

…I suppose it wouldn’t be pleasant by the time I’d need to leave the bathroom.

After cursing the unfortunate idiocy of my house—being able to see the second floor hallway from the bottom of the stairs—I decide that using my shirt wouldn’t be such a bad idea, and that walking the short distance to my room shirtless wouldn’t kill anyone… I initiate my plan, which only takes about fifteen seconds to execute—ten of which are merely spent drying myself—and after shutting the door to my room I quickly step out of my slippers and change into more decent clothing.

As I pull off my blue plaid pajamas and put on some faded jeans, I begin to think of what this Colleen person might look like. I’m thinking of a classy woman, with a tight black skirt with stockings—possibly black—and maybe a white blouse. She’d probably have blonde, flowing hair now that I think about it…Oh, no, no, no—I would never really be attracted to someone like that… Quite frankly a woman in formal wear scares me, especially since that one elementary teacher I had…

I’m scavenging for a shirt now, and it’s about then that I begin imagining what her son might look like. There’s not much to go by though—I don’t even know his name! I can’t even use genetics, because the only characteristic of his mom’s I know of is her tendency of wearing heels—and most likely he hasn’t inherited that. Still, I decide to make use of my imagination, and I end up imagining a decently tall, blonde-haired fellow in a tight collared shirt and ripped jeans.

Now it’s time to see how correct I am. After settling with a blue polo shirt I slip back into my slippers and leave the room, taking the descent to truth… On Colleen’s part, as I find out, I have come quite close to her actual attire. She is, in actuality, wearing everything I imagined, and the only thing I predicted wrongly in is her hair, which is brown and bushy at shoulder’s length.

“Justin!” my mother calls, summoning me toward her. I find myself walking toward her, but as I look around I don’t see Colleen’s son. Not that it would matter, since I barely made any predictions about him. Still, it would be nice to see if I’m remotely close, and I wonder where he is.

“You must be Colleen,” I try saying as politely as possible, extending my hand. Such a pleasant face for someone who kills people’s sleep, though…

“This is my son that I’ve been talking about.” Colleen nods, shaking my hand as she stares at me in a rather unnerving manner. Not quite scary, though—it’s like she’s trying to learn about me by peering into my eyes. I’m only praying now that her son isn’t anything like this.

This reminds me… “My mom told me you had a son…?”

“He’s in the restroom,” she replies. “I think he had a bad experience with airplane food…” I chuckle lightly at the thought; at least my fear of flying will prevent me from having a similar experience. At that moment my mother tells us to sit down and to get ready for the meal. I immediately claim my seat—the seat, where I always sit, favorable because of its position near the water dispenser. My mom takes a seat next to me—not where she normally sits—and Colleen sits in front of her. How fantastic, then—I’ll get a whole breakfast to stare at this son of hers… whose name I still don’t know.

“So what do you do now?” my mother asks as she places glasses in front of both Colleen and me. It must be a very special event, as she hasn’t used these cups for at least… five years, maybe. I’m surprised they aren’t dirty…

“Well, up until a few days ago I worked at the local Moffitt Center… sticking with my chemical engineering major…”

“That’s always nice.” They go on for ages about those topics, and although it’s a major I’m considering of taking up I’m frankly more interested in the bacon and biscuits in front of me. Oh how appetizing it seems, as if it’s almost holding up a “Don’t eat me sign!” with don’t crossed out. I smirk at it, and as it realizes what its sign actually says I toss it into my mouth. For bacon and its sign, it’s quite tasty.

And then… he enters.

—but the saddening part about it is that he’s absolutely nothing like what I had imagined. Blonde-haired? More like brown hair, and quite shaggy (though in a rather appealing way—not in a not-presentable way…) and disheveled. The tight collared shirt I had also imagined doesn’t exist, and he’s instead wearing a plain white shirt—I can bet almost fifty dollars it’s a Hanes classic tee. He’s brown-eyed, much like my original eye color, and he’s wearing a pair of bright orange shorts. Yes, orange—but they look like swimming trunks, which doesn’t make it as offensive…

“Feeling better?” asks Colleen, rubbing the boy’s back as he sits down. He’s awfully tall, perhaps a good three inches taller than me, and he’s got this perfectly innocent face—I really wonder if he’s that innocent, though. I mean seriously, who is anymore? Yet there’s something about him that’s different from the other boy’s I’m used to seeing… I think he’s missing a sense of pride that most others have, and he’s definitely not proud and haughty. I mean, just observing him as he sits… he doesn’t have his chest raised up high, and he’s not being obnoxious… but he isn’t shy either, I don’t think. I guess happy-go-lucky and average would be the two best adjectives to describe him… though not in looks, oh no, he’s surpassed the norm in that category.

…Funny how I can rant on and on about him…

“Yes, thanks,” he replies, and I feel almost tempted to enter another rant about his manner of speech… okay, maybe I will. His voice is a lot different than what I’m used to as well. It’s not geeky in any way, but it’s still different somehow… Like, I can tell that he’s well informed and that he’s probably a straight-A student, but at the same time… I’m not sure what it is about his voice—it’s the kind of voice I can hear in a porn movie, to put it that way. Informative yet seductive…? I’d take that. Though it’s also a bit annoying, though I’ll probably care later more than I do now. “Hello, Ms. Tzu.”

“Nice to meet you, Josh,” my mother says, and I guess it’s at long last I learned his name. Josh… a common yet interesting name. “Josh, this is my son, Justin.”

“Hello,” he says politely, though his voice is perhaps a bit too pleasant for my liking. He extends his hand over the table, perhaps to shake my hand; and the action surprises me. I’m not used to such politeness from a person his age! I decide on merely waving back, though my mom seems to disagree with my decision of leaving his arm stretched over the food. Is it really my fault?—I mean, I’m used to a very informal yet friendly ‘hey’ from someone his age.

“Oh, they’re both J’s!” Colleen exclaims, turning to my mother. “And we’re both C’s! I tell you, we have so much in common!” My mother, whose Americanized name is Cindy, nods at Colleen’s deductions, and I almost want to laugh at her for thinking of something so bizarre. Then again, she is the owner of the freaky stare, not to mention an undercover sleep killer.

Josh’s probably eyeing me with an odd sense of curiosity, and frankly I don’t care. Yes, I am a bit inane, but it’s not like that boy isn’t either! He’s definitely got a unique distinction about him, but it’s so… foreign to me. His overdose with those respect pills… he needs more fashion supplements! And even though it’s working out for him just fine, I can’t seem to place what makes him so wrong in my mind.

“Well, thanks for the meal,” Colleen says after ten minutes, standing up and tucking in her chair. “I’ve got some business to attend to, so I’m not sure if I’ll be able to make it for lunch. I think we’re gonna stay at a hotel for the night, so I might not see you for a while…” She approaches my mom, and the two embrace in a tight hug. I’m rolling my eyes at this point, glad that at least they’ll be leaving fairly soon, and I won’t have to deal with them for a long while…

“You can stay here!” my mom offers, and immediately my dreams come crashing to the ground. I look at her in an absurd manner, but she doesn’t seem to be watching me. “We’ve got an extra room! You’re more than welcome to stay here!”

“Really? That’d save so much money…” I’m looking at the two in disbelief. No mom! You can’t do this to me! Can’t you take my hints? But at least Josh is taking them, because he seems to be trying to tell his mother something too. Thus proving: thirty-nine-year-olds aren’t as perceptive as eighteen-year-old kids.

“You know, mom, I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” he tells his mother in that polite yet interesting tone of his. “You might be inconveniencing them.” Oddly enough he’s looking at me, and so I decide with excellent timing to pleasantly turn away from the conversation.

“Oh, but she offered… and that’s like, what… sixty dollars per night we’re saving?” My mother flashes the brown-haired boy a smile, and I guess it’s enough to satisfy him. Damned parents! Colleen’s definitely not on my good list now, having “sleep killer” and “awkward gaze holder” against her. She’s still in a hurry though, and as she waves her thanks again she taps her son and ushers him out the door. I sigh as they make their way—hopefully this temporary absence will satisfy me enough…

“He can stay with us!” my mom suggests, and as my mouth gapes I stare disbelievingly at her. Second time, woman! Hasn’t it gone into your head yet?—this family scares me!

“I don’t think—” begins Josh, but my mom cuts him off.

“No, no, no that’s fine! Justin can take you around town for the day, right?” She looks toward me, and as Josh looks at me I suddenly feel the pressure. Yes… no…? I want to say no so badly, but that distaste my mom will have afterward…

“Of course,” I mutter, and my mom immediately goes back into convincing Josh. His mother waits impatiently at the door, waiting for his answer, and suddenly the pressure is on him. Please say no… Please say no…

“Okay, thanks.” NO! Wrong answer! Colleen nods, giving her thanks once again, and as she exits our house and heads to her car I’m internally screaming. Take your son with you, please! I know I’m being a little hard on him, but… he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy I’ll make good friends with. I suppose it can’t be helped now, though… I don’t have much choice except to wake myself up properly and prepare myself for the tour I’ll have to give this guy. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”

I don’t give him a verbal response, but instead I let out a grunt. My mom decides to leave us alone, placing leftovers in bowls and plastic wrapping them. Josh immediately takes to helping out, handing my mother the plates of food so she doesn’t have to walk the whole length from our dining room to the kitchen. I’m staring at this kid in surprise; thank God I don’t have my own politeness radar, or else it’d be beeping incessantly. It’s not like I’m against being polite, just… It’s freaking me out at how polite and respectful he’s being. To my mom, maybe it is fine; but he’s also treating me the same way, and I’m just not used to it.

“I can wash the dishes,” he offers, causing me to gag. I hate washing dishes more than everything, and here Josh is, all nice and polite, offering to do a chore my mom has spent weeks hoping I’d do. Of course, as he’s only a guest, she declines the offer, but I’m still standing openmouthed as he instead puts away the already dried dishes. Do I even exist in this house anymore?—oh wait, when it came to chore time I barely helped my mom anyway…

I decide to at least sweep the floor, something that both my mom and my floor know I rarely do. I’m not going to let that courteous boy have my mom’s favor. She’s my mother! That boy’s a toady—a suck-up! He might naturally be that polite, which does scare me; but for now, based on experience and observation, there’s no way he’s really like that.

“Thanks for the help,” my mother says to both me and him. I nod before turning to Josh. Somehow he’s gotten his shirt wet, despite the fact he had been putting away dry dishes. My mom knows it—oh does she know it—and I’m positive I can see an extremely stupid idea brewing inside of her… “Oh, you’re wet… Justin, can you lend him a shirt?”

I am so right. “Sure,” I mutter. I’m not sure why I agree to it—perhaps I want to see that boy out of that damn white shirt. Have some taste, Josh! I really do talk to myself too much, though at least I don’t communicate out loud; not only would the boy think I’m schizophrenic (or whatever disorder it is that suggests you have two coexisting personalities), but he’d also know what I thought about him—not good at all! I lead him to my room, opening the door and stepping in. I search my closet for a shirt… which one would I be most willing to part with? “Which one do you want, Josh?”

I turn around to ask for his opinion, but he isn’t there. Frowning I look around, trying to see where he’s disappeared to; and I hang my head as I find him at the door, merely peering inside the room. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to come in…”

“Well yeah?” I say, summoning him to enter my room. At least he has enough decency to take his shoes off at the door, even though my room has wooden floors; even I don’t take off my slippers in my room. He peers inside my closet, though I notice he’s doing his best to stay as far away as possible, and he ends up picking a bright, lime green shirt. I frown as I hand it to him; do I really own that shirt? It’s exactly the same as his old one, just with color…

“Do you… sorry, may I… may I use your restroom?” I laugh at his question; I think somewhere along the way I’ve scared him to the point where he has to ask me for absolutely everything. That or he’s just being awfully polite… Actually, I think it’s the latter.

“Do it here, I don’t care” I say, waving a hand. “You just want to change your shirt, right?”

“Yeah.” I smile, turning away as he begins changing. I know I probably only said yes to see him take off his shirt, but not that it matters… I’ve enough respect to turn away. Although, ironically enough, there is a small mirror on the table… oh, I can’t resist the urge to look…! I can almost imagine what he looks like… Yet the boy disgusts me, annoys me—and now I’m ogling him! He’s nothing I’ve ever considered interesting before! And here I am… this boy completely ruins the standards I set for myself!

“Are you done?” I ask, and he gives a small sound of agreement. I turn around, noting how the green and orange blend nicely. Not bad; maybe he knew it in advance? Yet there’s not enough time to think of things like that now—I’m itching to get out of the house, and maybe in a more laidback setting he won’t be so polite and… cautious? I’ve used the former many times, but I don’t think I’ve ever called him cautious before this point. But now I think about it it’s not a bad adjective… He’s being polite, but he’s also asking permission before he decides to do something … I rant too much!

“Where’re we going?” he asks, and I shrug.

“Wherever you want. Wherever I want. I dunno yet.” I snatch my car keys off of my dressing, and as I’m about to leave the room a strange thought comes over me… let him through first…? I do it for the sake of it, motioning my hand to let him know he can pass through the doorframe. What am I doing! This boy’s rubbing off on me!—though taking away the juxtaposition of “off” and “on” may make a much more pleasing thought… I decide that, as we enter our car, I’m hoping upon my life that Josh and his mother are nothing like this in more informal times.

There’s nothing seriously flawed with Josh, I don’t think. But I’m starting to think that it’s because he’s perfect—that that’s the reason I dislike him on the inside.

- f i n -
(for now)

Let me explain what this story's gonna be.

First off. It's a combined version of two unfinished stories I had going on here, Kismet and Escape... Hence, Escaping Fate (since kismet is a synonym of fate). The character names are the same, though I decided to do some switching. Yes, both happened to have a Justin in them, so I decided to make him the main character. Josh has already appeared; you'll see Charles and Nathan, and other characters, later.

This is my SIDE project, since I am much more occupied with my other story Judgmental, which I strongly encourage you (I'm pleading! Please, read it!) to read. This I might update every other week, or maybe even once a month. It depends on how many people review and read it, as well as how quickly I can get these chapters typed up. So, if you're interested in me continuing, please tell me so I'm not wasting my time, and stuff like that.

I will, in fact, stop making my end of chapter notes now. Until my next chapter (if I put it out),

Zakuyoe (Zak)