Isaiah. There aren't enough words to describe how i felt when I'm around him.

There aren't enough words to describe the time away from him.

Horrid maybe? Disastrous, definitely.

Like all the happiness in my body is just waiting for him so that the endorphins can start pumping again.

I've never felt anything like it. I wanted to draw him immediately but didn't in case i couldn't do him any justice.

His very presence overwhelms me sometimes. In a good way of course, but also in a very intense way.

After only a month of knowing him i had his every feature mapped in my mind. His eyes, perfect and twinkly, his lips, soft looking. Pillowy almost.

I felt immensly pathetic for the amount of time i spent just watching him under the willow tree in the park down the street. The light played on his silver hair, like the sun on a shiny new 5p.

But i also noticed things that a friend wouldn't notice. The way his shirt clung to his chest the day it rained buckets for example. The way he tilted his head up slightly, parting his lips in pleasure as the heavy droplets landed and slid between his lips.

That little smile that worked its way onto his mouth whenever i said something too stupid, too naive. I found myself saying ridiculous things just to see that heavenly quirk of lips, and i swear he knew it too, though he never mentioned it, never rubbed it in my face. Just looked at me and smiled my favorite smile.

My mother got suspicious around week two, when i spent the night at his, then came back looking bedraggled and tired but very happy, as we'd spent the last hour wrestling over the last skittle packet. In the end we'd shared, but that hadn't occurred to me until afterwards.

We didn't sleep at all, just stayed up eating cold pizza and drinking diet coke. She imminently demanded to know what we had been doing.

I told her we'd watched gay porn then made passionate love on the kitchen breakfast table. (We hadn't of course) She went stark white and all sweaty-fied.

I'm sure i don't have to spend long describing the conversation that followed that little comment. It was full of shrieks and swearing. And a hard slap, but we'll get to that later. My dad wasn't happy either, and once again, my brother didn't care to give much more of an input then to smack the back of my head with a pillow when i walked past his open door.

I snorted and carried on to my sanctuary.

Closing the door behind me, i leaned against it, lowering my head as i reached a hand to feel the mark i was sure was there from the palm of my mothers hand.

My bedroom has always been the only place in the house i enjoyed being in. The walls were painted two colours, one black, then one lime green and then black then green again. My bed covers matched the walls, and so did virtually everything else. Even my favorite teddy bear...(Shh i never said that).

The only thing i hated about it was the size. The smallest bedroom in the house. Smaller then the bathroom even. But then again the bathrooms pretty scrap that last bit. Anyway, i flung myself down on the bed and grabbed my dog eared copy of 'My side of the story' while plugging my Ipod earphones in. 'I am the one and only' blasted in my ears and an automatic grin lit my face.

That was sure to drown out the shouts of "That damn blond bimbo is going to get himself into trouble one day!" and "Get your ass down here Blaine Howard!".

I so wasn't looking forward to dinner.

The one time my mum insisted we all sat down together and discussed politics and how our day had been. Made even worse by the healthy variety of food...thingsthat covered the table. Tongue salad anyone? Yum, right? Wrong, so wrong. But i endured. Because it was that or another lecture/rant of boredom that would eventually kill me.

Seriously though? Yeugh! I'd rather eat frog's legs...well maybe that's an exaggeration, but still.

Two hours later i trooped down and plonked my butt on one of the hard backed dining room chairs. Reeling from the look of anamosity my parents were giving me, i shrank a little, glancing at my brother to see if he was going to offer any hateful glare towards me but he was too busy giving the thing on his plate evils. That relieved me straight away. As long as Kayton wasn't sending extra insults my way everything was good. Or good-ish to be more exact.

Things had stopped being entierly good when i was six. And at sixteen things just kept getting worse.