Against All Odds

Against All Odds

The first chapter will be short, I'll continue when I see result. muhahahaha!!!

Chapter One

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Wednesday - Darien's POV

Lynchberg. Your All-American town, with your All-American families. You have your perfect moms and dads, with the perfect children who grow up to play high school football or become cheerleaders. Yep. Your All-American, perfect little damn town. I've been her five minutes and already I hate it.

After serveral successful art openings over the years, my mother decided that it was time to leave our SoHo apartment in New York for some one horse town in Virginia, so that she could work in a new enviroment. Damn artist. Never happy.

So here I am. Sixteen year old Darien Xavier. A depressed New York teen.

It seems we have stopped at a gas station just inside town. Mom can't go five minutes without some form of coffee. Out of stupiditiy, I've decided to get out of the car as well. Entering, I now get my first glimpse of what I will be surrounded by until I can talk my mom into going back to New York.

As I enter I see mom at the coffee machine, grinning like an idiot. Standing at the magazine rack a group of guys around my age turn to see who's entered, probably in hopes of the arrival of a friend. Damn! Can they stare any harder. I do a once over of them. Dressed in clean sneakers, blue jeans, neat shirts, and get this...letterman jackets! Haha. Me you ask? I'm dressed in some blue jeans that are torn at the knees and may seem tight on my ass (even though they hang way to loose on my hips), my favorite Doors t-shirt and a pair of dirty Converse. Oh! I do have black nailpolish and eyeliner on, but that shouldn't be a reason to stare. Right?

I hear them whispering, wondering if I'm a girl or not. Hello! Besides the fact that I have no boobs and short messy black hair, it should be obvious that I'm a dude. Apparently its to complex for them to properly analyze someones sex, even when apparent.

Even though, here in my head it seems like its been forever, only a few seconds have passed since my grand entrance into the local Circle K.

I proceed to the beverages and slowly decide upon what to drink. I feel their gaze burning upon my back. What the hell? Stop looking!

Opening the cooler door I pull out a Pepsi, cause lets face it. Pepsi is oh so better then Coke.

After selecting my choose of beverage, I proceed onto the chip asile and grab a bag of Salt & Vinager chips and then I'm off to the magazine racks. If their gonna stare, I might as well give them a closer look.

Grabbing the new issue of Rolling Stones I head over to my parental influence to give her a dirty look.

"What is it now Darien?"

Damn. Did she have to say that so loud. Now everyone knows my stupid name. And with the set of lungs my mom has on her, and the size of the town in mind, I'm sure EVERYONE knows.

"Everyone is staring. Can we go now?"
"Please. They're just not use to so much self-expression as you and I have."
"..."

Self-expression, please. Since I was little my mom taught me to be myself. To do what I want, wear what I want, like what I want, like who I want, and to be whatever I want. That to limit yourself in any area of your life would bring down the others and you would be seriously unhappy.

At the age of five, I went through a nudist phase. At eight she let me dress like a girl. Why? Well, because I wanted to be just like mommy then. Lets just say my phases haven't been considered normal.

But then again, I'm anything but "normal", or what society likes to call normal. My mom's an artist stuck in the seventies, and I have a unknown dad. Although for awhile I did have two moms. I don't think my mom ever considered herself a lesbian. Just unbound by the laws of love. As long as there was love; gender, race, age, etc. didn't matter.

Finally, we make our way to the cashier. I can hear THEM talking.

"What a freak!"
"They're probably just passing through."
"Hopefully."

The tall one. He didn't say anything. Although he did stare at me, he now continues to look at his magazine. He must of been 6'2". With short dark brown hair and baby blue eyes. Yeah I noticed his eyes! I'm the son of an artist. I take in every aspect of my enviroment.

Hmm...they're talking again.

"Is that makeup?"
"Yeah, and a nose ring. Freak."

What's the matter? Can't think of anything better to call me you imbecile.

You know, its funny how in one place your considered normal, and yet in another your a fucking freak show. I like my nose ring and makeup. Along with all my other peircings and tattoos.

Okay. Now that grandma has finished paying for gas in pennies, mom can pay and we can move onto wherever the hell we're headed.

"C'mon. We have to get to practice."

So the tall one can speak. They leave but not without a few diry looks at me. As they do leave I can read the back of their jackets. It reads Cambridge High. Just great. It seems that I've just met, in a way, some of my soon to be classmates.

My mom finishes paying and we're off. People stare as she drives her brand new Ford ThunderBird down the road. It seems no one here owns a vehicle younger then 1987. Thats good. I'll sorta fit in with my 1969 Dodge Charger.

As I stare out the window, mom informs me that she's already had the satalite and internet installed, so that i won't have a complete meltdown.

"After you unpack your room that is."
"Of coarse." I answer sarcasticly.

Note to self:
Do not unpack anything for two weeks.

Good thing all my new school clothes and stuff is in the trunk of the car. Can't go to school on Monday without that crap.

Even though I just bought new school stuff a month ago when school began, mom figured that i needed 'new stuff because I was going to a new school.' Whatever.

Hmm... It seems that we have arrived to my new prison called home. My fate has now been sealed.

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Thursday - Darien's POV

Apparently I forgot about my note to myself. I was able to unpack half of my crap. I can't believe how much shit I have. My floor is an ocean of cds at the moment. I have yet to put together any of my furniture besides my bed, which by the way is made nice and neatly. My "other mother" was a naval officer and she use to make me make my bed everyday and it had to be perfect. I guess over the years it just stuck.

I have yet to venture out of the house. Mom's already been to the store. Apparently somewhere between New York and Virginia she learned to cook. Or so she thinks.

The house mom bought is quite large, and in what seems like a quiet neighborhood. Then again its only noon and school has yet to let out.

I have three days until I join the high school world of Lynchberg. I can't decide wether to slit my wrists or overdose. But that would be a waste of time and energy, plus mom would kill me if i got blood on her carpet.

I decided to just get off my ass and put my furniture together.

Four hours later my room is finally organized. I'm happy it's done. It would have started to bother me.

I finally venture out of my room since arriving here at Casa Xavier. Its even worse in daylight. The walls are a unbarable white and it has small windows. I have to make a correction to an earlier statement I said. Apparently it will not be my prison, this place shall be my asylum. Even better. Luckily most of my room is covered in posters.

I find mom in the kitchen trying to work the electric can opener. We never ate in together in New York. She was always at some party and I was out with my friends. I've eaten out everyday since the age of twelve. But now we're in a town where we know no one, I guess we have to eat together. This should be interesting.

That's if she can get the can opener to work.
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Friday - Darien's POV

Damn alarm clock. I guess my mom must have set it. It is now 9:30 a.m. and I am daring to venture downstairs in search of food. Mom is at the table with her scetch pad and a cup of columbian coffee in hand.

"Why?" I asked. She knows the true question.
"Because, we are going to go downtown and see what shops they have."
"Together?"
"No. It is not a mother-son outing. I figured you'd want to find somewhere of interest for you."
"When?" I'm not one for long external conversation.
"After lunch."

I groan and turn, leaving the horrible blue kitchen and my mother behind to return to my end of the psych-ward that my mother has created. Does she believe that normal families have white walls inside large houses, and go shopping downtown on Friday afternoons? Knowing her, more then likely.

Returning to my cell I set my alarm for 12 p.m. and return to sleep, but not before making sure Metallica was loud enough to let the neighbors know what I thought of the world and them.