(A/N: Hey you! I hope you like this one chapter of Through Stained Glass!! This story I came up with when I was in south America!!! XD It's very Angsty and Yaoi-ful!!! Enjoy! OH and PS I'm really sorry about the italics I couldn't make them work half way through the chapter, so I just made it bold. . .ehh, it looks really messed up. . .why is using italics sooo difficult?!?! *dies*)
Through Stained Glass
(Semi edited: gottten most of the italics to work ^_^;;;;)
I'm just another one of those back ally delinquents. All the mothers tell the kids to stay away from me. They tell them what awful people we are, how we hurt others. But the truth is we're the ones who hurt the most, we're the ones who suffer. At times I feel the need to go out of my way to prove them wrong, that I am a good person; that I'm not what they say I am. I try hard, though nothing works I keep trying.
I hate the outside world. I hate how they label people who aren't as "good" as they are. They have no right to do so, they are worse than me. For one moment, just one, I want to be known as something more, something valued. I want to prove myself. . .
In these times it takes a lot of work to get somewhere, but even if you try, you'll probably end up losing it and more in the end. That's why I've made this one decision, I won't try proving them right anymore. This time. . . this time, I'll prove them right.
Revenge is bittersweet
"Sketch dear, please remember not to go anywhere near Port street, you know that the gangs there are going out of control lately."
"Yes mother," sighed the 14 year-old Sketch, exasperated.
His mother glared at him sternly while sipping her tea out of a fine china tea set, "Now I'm serious, it's dangerous there!"
"Mother, I'm going to buy another computer, I mean it's not like I'm going to get a car, I'll be at the store, choose one, pay them and leave," Sketch simply said with his golden brown hair in his eyes, "Besides, Alberto will be there."
"Well if Alberto is going with you, then where is he?" retorted mother.
The teen rolled his water blue eyes, "He's taking care of some chores before we head off; is there a problem with that?"
"No there isn't, and I don't want to hear that tone from you, mister!" his mother's face scrunched up with her lips pursed.
"Yes mother. . ." he said with his eyes focused on the vase behind her. He didn't seem to care much if his mother was angry with him. He didn't seem to care about anything. All he wanted was to get out of this prison of a home.
"Master Sketch?" an aged man with a bushy mustache called.
Sketch turned around, "Yes Alberto?"
"The car is ready when ever you are. . ." said Alberto with his head facing the floor.
"Alright then, Mother, I'm going now. . ." he watched as her face become more tense and irritated.
"Very well then," her eyes closed, her lashes glittered with the light from the window. "Make sure you don't come home any later than--"
"Mother, I'll be fine!" Sketch snapped at her sharply. "Alberto come on, we're leaving!"
He headed off running toward the garage, passing all the expensive lamps, frames and what not his house was flooded with. Behind him following was Alberto, who seemed to have a blank face, there was no sign of grief or joy. His gray streaked hair was gelled back and looked very clean.
Some one else who looked very elegant was Sketch. He had his starched pearl white button shirt on with sand colored slacks, which were nicely ironed.
"Come now, Alberto," Sketch smiled as he ran up to the black limo, "You're walking way too slow!"
Alberto's eyes glowed, "Yes master Sketch."
Me? Oh, well, I'm your typical 14 year-old rich boy. My mother and father own a huge glass company. Some people expect me to be as bratty as the next kid who has money but that's where you're wrong. Yes, I usually always get what I want and I never was left with out anything I needed. And it's true sometimes I do get egotistical and bossy, but doesn't everybody at some point.
Ever since I was young, I always wanted to be something more than just a rich brat. My mother always feels the need to baby feed me everything. I never go out into the world, I never got to live a normal life. I hate this life, even with everything I have, I'm not happy. . .not happy at all.
Just because I was born into this family they don't need to label me. They don't need to criticize everything I do, tell me I'm not doing things right or saying I have other people slave over things just for me. It's not true, some people maybe, but it's not true for me. . .
The world seems different in my eyes
His face was leaned on the darkened window when the car came to a complete stop. His brown hair was messed up covering his eyes. "Master Sketch?" Alberto looked at the back seat where Sketch sat, sleeping. "Master Sketch??"
"Hmm?" he yawned, his arms up stretching. "Are we there yet?"
Alberto nodded, "Yes we are." He stepped out of the black limo and opened the door for Sketch.
"Thank you, Alberrrrrrrrrrrto," he yawned again, stepping out of the car with his eyes half closed.
"You're very welcome, Master Sketch."
The browned haired teen walked sluggishly into the computer store. As he stepped in he could smell the sent of metal and wires. Computers and laptops were lined in rows with white cards in front of each stating the prices. He walked deeper into the store, touching the mice and keyboards as he passed them.
"These aren't that great, father told me that this place sold decent stuff. . ." he sighed, scratching his head. "Hmm?" he noticed a neon green card in the back of the room. "I wonder what that is. . ." he headed towards the card. The card was blank, Sketch traced the outline with his slim fingers. "That's weird, there's nothing on this card. . .or a computer."
"Hey look, it's that rich kid, Skeeter was it?" Sketch heard a kid from the distance whisper to a girl.
The girl shook her head, "No. . .I'm pretty sure his name was Scrunch. . ."
"Whatever. . ." the boy rolled his brown eyes, "I wonder why he didn't send his slaves over here to buy him a computer. . ."
"They must've died from working so hard or something. . ." the girl giggled lightly.
Sketch narrowed his eyes. Who the hell do those two think they are? They have no right to say things like that to me!
He stormed over to Alberto who was talking to the clerk. "I want the computer in the back over there," he said it so coldly he hissed. "The one with the green card, go now!" he pointed angrily.
"Yes master Sketch," Alberto and the clerk walked over to the back of the room.
Once they reached the back Sketch ran out the door.
"Master Sketch, there is no computer with a green. . ." Alberto didn't see Sketch anywhere in the store.
"Damnit! I hate people like that!" Sketch shot out loud, winning himself people staring at him. He continued to walk around aimlessly. His water blue eyes seemed to be boiling. "I swear, they don't even know me!"
Sketch stopped walking when he realized he didn't know where he was. His anger began to drown as his fear rose. The teen looked around desperately, not knowing where to go. Abruptly, he got pushed causing him to fall.
"Watch where ya standin'!!" a man sneered as he walked past him.
"I-I. . ." the browned haired teen frowned. He felt helpless, because of his parents, he was never exposed to the real world. What am I to do now?
He stood up, brushing the dirt off his pants. His eyes wandered the area, looking for something, anything.
"Huh?" his eyes stopped on a green street sign that distinctively said: Port Street. Sketch took a deep breathe of air. "Well Sketch, standing here won't do you any good. . ." He feet took him in deeper into Port street.
Don't go back. . .people will mock you. . .don't go back. . .there is nothing there. You are alone. . .you'll never have anybody who will understand!!
Sketch's head pounded with pain. He didn't want to go back, but he had nowhere else to go.
Frightened, he began to run. You can't go back, you can't go back!!!!
"ACK!!" he fell to the ground with a big thud.
"Watch where you're going you fuck!" he heard someone yell. Sketch opened his eyes to see a guy who was older them him wince, "What the hell are you doing running around here like a fruit?!" he demanded, his black hair was tied back, but that didn't keep his loose stands from his face.
"I-I'm. . ." Sketch took a good look at the black haired teen, from as much as he could tell, he wasn't any ordinary person. His pants were black covered in dirt, chains and safety pins. He wore a dark blue tank with an open dark gray shirt.
The black haired teen raised a brow. "What's wrong, spit it out!" he demanded, as he stood up, dusting himself off.
All that Sketch was able to do was stare.
"Hmm, you must be one of those up town kids, right?" he said noticing the fine clothing Sketch was wearing. "What's wrong, not enough money?"
Sketch growled, "Shut up!"
"Oh, you do speak!" he snickered, mocking him.
"At least I'm not back ally scum!" Sketch stood up, enraged.
He shot an icy glare at Sketch, "What did you say?"
"Y-you heard me!" Sketch didn't know where he was getting all this courage to speak up to a gangster.
"I think it would be best for you if I didn't hear you, ya know, you little twit?" he grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pinned him against the brick wall. Sketch gave out a yelp of pain. "Ya know what I hate?" he asked coldly. Sketch didn't move. "People like you, people who think they are too damn good for the fucking world!" His green eyes flickered with the setting sun. "What makes you so damn special?"
Sketch gasped with pain as he pushed him harder to the wall. "And I hate people like you!" he managed to say. The black haired teen loosened his grip. "I hate how all you can see is that I come from money, there is more to a person than that!!"
What's going on? Why am I saying this? He can kill me, so why am I risking my life now?
"You got guts kid. . ." he let go of him. "The name is Raven," he pointed to his black hair.
"That's great, but I don't care. . ."
"OH, but that's where you're wrong, you said you come from money, so there for I can use you, ya know?" Raven smiled mischievously.
"What are you going to--"
Raven impaled his fist into Sketch's stomach. "Sorry to do this to ya kid, I mean it's a shame you had guts. . ."
What is this pain?
Have you ever truly felt pain?
What do you mean?
You have never been hurt, have you?
No! You're wrong I have! I have felt pain before, just never this much. . .
Are you afraid?
I don't know. . .
Are you afraid?
I told you already, I don't know!
Are you afra—
SHUT UP!!! I don't want to hear it!!!
You are afraid, aren't you?
I said SHUT UP!!!
"Yo, kid wake up!" Sketch reluctantly opened his eyes. He felt a piercing pain in his wrists. "Damn you must've had one hell of a nightmare to make you scream like that," laughed Raven, who was sitting next to him.
"What?" Sketch looked down at his feet. They were tied up, as were his wrists. The rope gnawed deeper into his skin, he winced. "Where am I?" muttered Sketch groggily.
"At this old, abandoned glass warehouse," a man with a beard said gruffly.
"A. . .glass. . .factory. . ." he felt dizzy.
What's wrong with me. . .why do I feel this way. . .am I going to die?
"Are you kidnapping me for money?" he looked over to Raven, who was picking at his teeth. His hair was in his eyes, so he couldn't clearly see his face.
"Duh, why else would you be here with us?" he replied sharply.
Sketch winced, "Stupid quest. . .question, huh?" He could feel a churning in his stomach.
No, don't let go now. Don't show them your weak side, be strong, Sketch. . .
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
"Ehh? Da boy's cryin'! Look, he's cryin, Raven!" another guy exclaimed, smirking.
Raven snorted, "Why you crying, kid? The ropes too tight or something?"
Sketch looked at him, his eyes overflowing with sorrow.
Please kill me. . .
Ame: YAY! Done! I hope you enjoyed it, please review and tell me what I did wrong. . .cause I know I made a lot of mistakes, I'm just really lazy -___-;;