A/N: Well this is a story I wrote in Falkirk, Scotland while thinking about one of my all-time favourite characters, Corey Anderson. He's my beloved orphan with a few big secrets kept inside his seemingly fragile exterior. Well read and enjoy the first instalment… There shall be more when I get to working on it.
Oh and this is NC-17.


By Mekka Angel

Bending over the rail, still clasping my heavy black jacket closed with my left hand, I hesitantly dropped the blood red rose on top of the growing pile of cheerfully coloured flora. Why try to bring cheer to the situation when you'll only go home to mourn? I thought bitterly, momentarily forgetting that more then half of the crowd around me barely knew the cold boy before them.
A lone stranger, the only wearer of black in a sea of cheery pretend; that's who I am.

I turned my back on the coffin and began to walk away, to the exit as tall head stones passed, the occasional wooden cross amongst them.

"Corey?" A voice. "Corey Anderson?" A female voice, one I knew well even through the tears.
A petite lady with bony fingers and wavy blonde hair stepped in front of me.
"Corey? I didn't think I'd see you today." Her once warm, blue eyes had become cold and grey over the years.

"Mrs Scott, I didn't think you would either. Now if you'll excuse me, there's one big nothing waiting for me back at my glamorous council flat that's ever-so important."
Giving no chance for further conversation I side-stepped and continued away from the cemetery and all the unbearables.

"Nicholi wanted you to have something, should I see you. He left it next to his fare-well note."
I stopped.
"It was wrapped around another piece of paper... It had your name on it."

Immediately reprimanding myself, I turned and made my way back to the widow stationed, lonely, in the centre of the rock cemetery road.


"He left this for you." Her bony fingers parted to reveal Nicholi's favourite pendant. I had found it on the way home from the park one day, but had allowed him to think that he had made the discovery. We were only twelve at the time.

Carefully I reached out and took it from her, a piece of rolled up paper came with it.
"Thank you." I muttered.

"Take care." She said with a hug. "I'm sorry."
Perhaps it was the death of her only son, but the middle aged woman before me was being polite and civil for the first time since she had discovered the secret that Nicholi and I had kept so dearly.

I left her with a nod and a light fare-well. Crossing the main road the situation must have finally grasped me because I wiped furiously at my eyes, but failed to hold back the tears.


I let the door close behind me as I dropped the keys onto the table and my clothes to the floor as I made my way toward the shower.

I walked into the small room and pressed 'play' on my portable stereo before turning the taps, first the hot closely followed by the cold.

"Every time we lie awake
After every hit we take
Every feeling that I get
But I haven't missed you yet
Every room mate kept awake
By every sigh and scream we make
All the feelings that I get
But I still don't miss you yet..." The lyrics seemed to flow over me with the warm water. My hands shook as I thought about the day just passed - about how pale and cold Nicholi's face had looked against the red satin lining and his black and white penguin suit tux. The tears came again, this time accompanied by a vast lack of oxygen. I tried to take in the air smoothly but it came in big heaving gulps as my knees slowly gave way and I sat in a quivering heap at the bottom of my shower.

It took me well over an hour - after the water grew cold - for me to recompose enough to stand and walk vacantly to my room without a towel, but it was a start.
I fell back onto my bed and the covers automatically began to soak up the water from my hair and body. I stared up at the ceiling, not even music found its way into my head, but it was only a short moment before my eyes grew heavy and closed. It was the sleep I dearly needed, the dream I could have done without, however.

Cold sweat ran down my face as I sat upright that morning; the dream had felt so real. I could smell the lightly burning candles in my room that had long burnt out now, even the fingers running through my hair lingered... As though he was still here...

I rose and made my way into the bathroom, turning the taps as I felt rather then heard my clothes slip to my feet and brush my ankles. I stepped under the warm jets of water. The feel of the warm rivers running down my body caused me to shiver as I ran my fingers through my now heavy, chin-length locks of meant-to-be wavy ebony and shut my violet eyes.

Memories came flooding back to me. Memories of our younger selves; Nicholi and I; when we were friends... When we were together again.

My throat ceased up and my eyes clamped shut.

Locking my fingers in my hair, a cry escaped my mouth as my knees gave out and jarred as they collided with a snap against the porcelain tiles.

It took me a while before I could stand with the pain shooting up and down my legs, spawning from my knees; but I made it to my room - eventually - and heaved on my dresser until the drawer I was clutching clashed to my feet and spilled its contents across the floor.
I tugged at a pair of difficult denims and began packing the rest, emptying draw after draw of my clothing into my suitcase. I needed to go back, I needed to return home and see someone - ANYONE - a familiar face.