~ DAUGHTER OF A GUN ~

A Story About Pain And Love;

And How Just A Little Kindness Can Save Us All.

~ By Sakin-chan ~

Chapter 1 - REMINISCENCES –

"DEKA! YOU'LL BE LATE FOR SCHOOL IF YOU DON'T HURRY UP! Again…"

"Yeah, yeah… I'm coming, I'm coming!"

A typical morning in the Sousan household. I grudgingly get up, and put on my wrinkled school uniform. God, I hate school! I look at my face in the mirror in the hall: dark skin, messed-up, dyed-white hair, and red, previously dark-brown eyes.

As I go out the front door, I give my mom-unit a death glare. Silly woman. Who in the 21st century actually takes brown paper-bag lunches to school anymore? I think about the row we had last night. She wanted me to say hi to my father who went off to some other country we used to live in to rip off the benefit-system. To voraciously consume the money from the taxes paid out of the sweat of hard-laboring workers to buy silly suits for work when he doesn't even work. He has diabetes.

"No way. What would I say to him that I have not said fifty times before?"

"But he's your father!"

"SO WHAT?! …Oh, I don't give a damn. I'm not talking to him."

I hate talking to him. He always puts me down. I spit on the pavement, angry.

"Screw you," I say, crushing a random ant under my toes.

At school, I sit alone. I have no friends. 'Freak' they call me: 'Sour bitch'. It is true I do not talk to them, or communicate in any manner, but I don't care about them. I don't need them or their stupid little cliques. I am my own girl.

"There's a new boy in our class," announces Monkey-man. I call him that because he is as hyper as a monkey. He is our form-teacher – the head honcho of Year 11BI. He governs us like he governs the Nurse in Room C12. I know. I've seen them at it. God knows it was a horrible shock at the time. He's been trying to make it up to me ever since, the bastard – trying to rope me into 'Fun' activities like Yoga-club, Glee-club, etcetera. He even tried to get the others in my class to associate with me – but as soon as he turned his back, everyone moved fifteen feet away from the social leper.

I express total un-interest in the arrival of the new pupil. After a few hours, he'll probably join one of the cliques; if he was good-looking, or RICH, he'd join the 'Hot Posse', the biggest assholes St Jove High has ever had walking it's grounds. If not, which was more than likely, he'd join the outcasts – the rest of the world, the plain ordinary, the sad loners like me who are just too fucking antisocial.

"Class, this is Kotaro Fujishima. He's from Kyoto, in Japan. Kotaro, this is class 11BI. Why don't you say hi, Kotaro?"

The minute I see his pretty-boy ass, I just know that he will join the 'Chic Clique'. He has this shiny black-blue hair, and these really big emerald-green eyes. He is wearing casual clothes – light blue sweater, though it's June, and jeans. And that's it. But his eyes are what I notice most about him. Not that I was actually paying attention – I simply noticed. And he didn't say hi. Just came, and sat down next to me! You could hear a needle drop in the silence.

"What do you think you're doing?" I hissed at him.

He turned to look at me, as if he hadn't noticed I was sitting on the bench with him (our school has two-seater benches and two-man desks).

"Hi." He gives me a long, searching look; then turns back again, eyes on the blackboard. I sit there, dumbfounded.

At break, I push a kid out of the line who is in front of me. "Hey!"

"Shut it!"

"That's not very nice."

I turn to give the smart-ass one right in the kisser, and see it's the Japanese kid from class.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing. What do YOU want?"

"Are you being smart with me?"

He smiles. "No. I would like you to tell me whether the food here is… edible."

I blink: is he laughing at me? But no; he seems to be nice enough. I reluctantly smile.

"…Not really."

"Hmm. Why didn't you tell me you can smile?" he says playfully. Quickly my smile dissolves – I am all spiky and dangerous again. It doesn't help that the Cool Fools are walking past, and choose at that moment to snigger at me. To my amazement, Kotaro glares at them, and they quickly disperse. I look around – I can't handle anyone being nice to me – and I get out as fast as I can. Was he doing that to make fun of me, or was he earnest? I didn't want to think about it. I suppose when he turned around, he would be surprised to see I had vamoosed pretty sharpish.

The next day I find out that Sorara and Kiyouanu were 'interested' in Kotaro, and were, to say the least, disappointed that he hadn't immediately fallen at their feet, like the rest of the dopes in St Jove. I feel like I have gained a victory, though I don't know why.

I suddenly hear someone harassing some guy near our homeroom. I peek out behind the corner, and swear. I knew they would get to him sooner or later.

"Hey, Jappy!"

"What's with ignoring us all yesterday?"

"What's with the RUDENESS?"

"Keep your hands off me." Kotaro is calm, while the JJay's (said 'jay-jays') are getting worked up. They're twins. I bite my lip: no matter how annoying he is, I do not want him to get hurt. (What am I saying?!) I think, panicking;

(KILL HIM!)

"Sorara and Kiyouanu want you to stay away from that freak," says JJay no.1.

"That white-haired bitch who can't talk." And both JJay's guffaw heartily. Despite having heard heir words fifty times, and even worse things, I feel sad. Hurt. Kotaro, who may have become a sort of companion, was lost to me already. He would believe what they said, and become a BigHead. I just knew it.

"The girl I sat next to yesterday?" he asks, and the twins nod vigorously.

"She's not too bad. Why do you all hate her?"

I gasped. I'm… not too bad?

"She's a weird bitch."

"Yeah, she's a weird bitch that needs a bit of a shag!"

"Yeah, that'll loosen up her tight little ass!"

"NYAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!"

I had enough.

I stepped out from around the corner, pissed.

"Listen, you fat bastards, not even the saddest, most mentally-challenged female would ever want to shag your ugly asses!"

They both walk up to me real quick, and I realize that I am in trouble. I look at Kotaro – he is smiling at me. Why?

"I'm right here. Just say the word."

He wants me to ask him for help! I look at the twins, and realize he is right. I cannot possibly beat these two jocks, when running up the stairs kills me. The first of the twins (they look alike – big guys, blond, gray-blue eyes, small pinched face, mean looks) grabs my shirt, and pulls me up. I see that Kotaro from Japan is not going to help unless I grovel. I will not.

My vision is blurred; there are swirls of color swimming in my head. I hit the floor, barely awake. I blink once, twice. Green eyes… Kotaro? I cough, and feel it racking, shaking my whole body. I look at the floor. There's a big, red stain there.

Blood.

Fuck. Just what did they do to me?

"You should have asked."

I look up, and see Kotaro. He has a nasty bruise on his cheek and his lip is bleeding. He looks angry.

"You should have asked me for help!"

"Why would you want to… help me?" I feel like shit. They must have broken my ribs.

"What'd they do…?"

"They knocked you out… kicked a hole in your stomach."

"What about you?"

"I'm… I'll be fine. Don't worry about it." He sits up, and grimaces. Then he smiles through the blood, and pulls me up with him. I gasp. He has picked me up, and is carrying me like a child. Humiliation is gnawing at my insides; but I do not rebel. After all, he risked his pretty boy face for me. I suppose I am in his debt.

He had better not take advantage.

I am at home, when I hear the call. My mom-unit is screaming down the phone to dad-unit, as per usual.

Suddenly, the call ends, and she comes running upstairs, and breaks down my door.

"It's your father. He… is in trouble with some people, and he won't come back unless we pay the money your father owes."

The way she says 'your father' grates on my nerves.

"And?"

"I'm sorry, honey… but we're going to have to pay with your college-fund."

"NO!"

She looks guilty, I'll give her that.

"NO! You can't! That was the money I've saved from all those part-time jobs! I didn't let myself use it! Why should he?! I worked for that money!"

"But honey, they'll kill him if you don't!"

"Are you… blackmailing me?! Oh my god! You are!"

I screamed, ranted, shouted and cried; but I saw no other option out of it. It was pay up, and lose your education; or keep it, and lose your father. I know which one I would have taken; I would have kept my money. But I had to… for my conscience. I had lost.

"Okay. But, on one condition; I pay him myself."

If what I suspected was right, then my dad-unit would be in for a HELL of a surprise.

Emphasis on HELL.