Nine (name in working progress)- Xman FF

[Brokenhearts]

btw- her back ground is only relavent bcoz of her 1st encounter ^_- enjoy all =D

Her name was Shaheena Khan. All Pakistani girl, moved to America for her father’s work when she was three. She could speak six different languages because of it. She was so obviously Pakistani because of it. She found it hard to survive with mostly white christan Americans because of it.
What she found out about her self, had nothing to do with it.
She wasn’t a normal girl, that much was obvious since the day she was born. Her mother had become so unusually tired after holding her. It wasn’t so bad when she was in her little pajamas and such. Nila Khan, her mother, thought nothing of it. She reasoned with herself that it was like that when Mikeal, Shaheena’s older brother, had been born.
As she grew up, Shaheena had been an overly out going child, making friends with a lot of people. Liking being surrounded by lots of people. She was friendly, confident, happy and could look after herself, even though her older brother would be very protective of her.
She learned about the world on her own, seeing as her father would try and shield her from it as much as possible. Looking back on it, she wandered if he knew about… about her, and that was why he was so reluctant to have her have people over and such like.
She was very popular, because of her friendly extieror and open personality. It made her very vulnerable too, but she knew how to look after herself if that ever happened.
She never had any problems growing up. She got on well with both her parents, save the odd arguement when she wanted to go out and her father wouldn’t let her. All the same, she didn’t mind all that much, because Nila would always manage to talk Jaaved round to her way of seeing things. She was close to her brother, and her local cousins.
Her only problem was the fact that she was rather a pyromaniac. Even then it wasn’t all that bad, she would just keep flicking open lighters playing with the flame occasionally. Other than that, it made no difference to her life. She was in control of what she did, how she did it, what happened to her and how. No matter what.
It was no wander when things came to light… she was so shocked.
It started when she was ten. Double figures. Already a corner stone in the building for independance. She was so proud of getting to that age. However with the attacks on the Twin Towers still freash in people’s minds, and Shaheena took great pride in her Pakistani origions, and looked throughly asian. She was targeted quite often for racist attacks, her age meant nothing to the people who tried to hurt her.
That day, she went out with her best friend, Nadia Close, and her mother to go bowling. They were to meet several other friends there. They never got there.
Shaheena was never one to stay in one place for long, but she always made sure the grown up in charge knew where she was going. Which is possibly the only reason she was alive to make it else where in life.
Ten year old Shaheena let her hands drift over the magazines slowly, wandering what to read. She loved reading, she liked to find things out. Even if it was a crappy fashion magazine.
“Hey you!” called a sharp gutteral voice.
She ignored it, she didn’t talk to strangers. Not ones that were older than her anyway.
“Kid,” the voice was closer, she didn’t like it, but she looked up, meeting the steely, dull blue eyes of the stranger, “you one of them Pakis?” he asked bluntly.
She scowled at him. “I’m not a paki,” she told him, “I’m a Pakistani… what’s a Paki?” She was genuinely puzzled by the word.
The slimly built blonde boy burst out laughing loudly, then coughed slightly. Explaining his gutteral voice. Shaheena didn’t like the voice. She didn’t like how he spoke to her, or how he looked at her. It wasn’t nice. It wasn’t good.
“Oh get this,” he snarled at her, “the Paki don’t even know what is! DO… YOU… UNDER… STAND… EEEEENGLIIIISH…?” his voice loud and patronizing.
“Yes,” she answered, tears pricking her eyes, why was he talking her as though she was stupid? He didn’t know her… “I understand you perfectly.”
The boy frowned at her. He seemed confused about something. Or angry. It was hard to tell. “Listen, you little shit,” Shaheena’s eyes widened, her eyes glossed over, “you like all them Paki’s, your nothing! You come to America, you take our jobs, take our education and then you go and fucking kill us!” He walked closer to her, for some reason no one had noticed yet, but he was scaring her. “We take you in and this is the thanks we get?!”
“I don’t know what your-”
“Oh so you play stupid! We know all you Paki’s knew about the planes!”
Understanding broke out on Shaheena’s face. She understood the hurt the teenager probably went through because of those attacks. “I didn’t know,” she protested, “I was just as… as…” she searched for the right word, “shocked as you. My fam-”
“I don’t give a shit about you! Paki BITCH!” he snapped at her, and spat her face.
A lump formed in her throat, as she whiped away the tabacco smelling salia away from her face and hair. She didn’t understand why anyone would speak to her in such a way. He pushed her shoulder hard.
“Leave me alone,” she muttered turning away, “I’m ten.”
“Don’t use that as an excuse- go back to your own country. You’re not welcome here.”
That was it! That insult she had heard before, and this time it was aimed towards her. She hadn’t stood for it last time, she wouldn’t this time. She turned round and stared up at him, looking him in the face. “This is my country as much as you,” she told him, “I was brought up here. I live here. I learn here. This is my country too.”
“Your family ain’t from here.”
“Neither is yours,” she stated, “your white- which means your ancestors are from Eur-”
“Since when did pakis know so much?”
“I pay attention in history.” She glared at him.
He had nothing to say to that. He had obviously expected her to keep away, not to stand up for herself. Though Shaheena felt ready to cry, she was also incredibly angry.
“Don’t talk to me, paki.” He slapped her face.
That hurt. Her hand flew to her face, as a tear escaped her eye. The boy started laugh again, almost hystarically. By then people had started to notice. But they did nothing, not wanting to get involved. They did notice when her eyes glazed over, her hands started shining, and grabbed hold of the boy’s bare arms.
“What you thi-” he started, then stopped suddenly, as if he was gasping for air, half colapsing to the ground.
Shaheena could no longer hear what was going on, she was no longer aware of what was going on, she just knew she was angry, that she had been insulted, and he wasn’t going to get away with it.
It wasn’t till she felt herself grow too hot did she let go, breaking the skin contact between her and the stranger.
His face was grey, covered in cold sweat. His blue eyes had dulled entirely, his breathing shallow. Shaheena swollowed hard as he reached out to her desperately.
Suddenly didn’t care that he had turned on her, slapped her, embaressed and insulted her. She caught him as he fell, crying at the same time. Her knee buckled from the weight.
“HELP!” she screamed, “HELP! SOMEONE PLEASE!”
The boy’s shallow breathing was in her ear, his heart was racing in his chest. His body was hot, and his skin clammy with the cool sweat oozing from his pores.
The people stopped and stared at them. It felt like hours, days… even years before someone took him off her! She refused to let go of him, scared he’d die.
Because of her.
She knew it was all her fault. If anything happened to him. She couldn’t stand it. Another human being… in trouble… and it was all her fault…
Nadia and her mother found her with the boy by the ambulance, still holding onto the boy’s arm. Shaheena’s small shoulder’s shaking with her sobs.
Nadia’s mother swept her up into a tight hug, hyaving known the girl since she was three, she felt like an aunt to her.
“I didn’t mean to!” Shaheena cried into the older woman’s shoulder, “I didn’t… I was just so… angry… and he hit me… I… I… didn’t mean to!”
“Shhh… shhh…” whispered Jasmine, Nadia’s mother, “shhh… it wasn’t your fault…”
“YES IT WAS!” screamed Shaheena pulling away from her, watching them load the boy into the ambulance. He had more colour to his face, but he looked so weak. She pulled away from Jasmine, and ran towards him.
“I don’t care that you insulted me,” she told him sincerely, stopping the paramedics, looking the boy in the face, his blue eyes locked on her brown, “you’re a racistist person, and that’s not good. But I’m so sorry for what I did to you…”
The boy looked as though he was in shock. “Why… you… are you…?” he stammered weakly.
Shaheena didn’t know what he was saying, but she just shook her head and walked away to Jasmine’s waiting embrace to take her home. She didn’t know what had happened when she lost control. She didn’t understand. The only thing she got was the fact that it was all her fault.
She never did see that boy again. She found out three things about him. His name was Thomas James Fisher. He was sixteen. And he lived and was healthy. She only needed to know the last thing, but to find that out, she needed those pieces of information too.
She never forgot that day. She never told her parents what really happened. Though she knew her father knew. He was more cautious about touching her bare skin. He hugged her, but only if she was wearing a jumper or a long sleeved top. Her mother didn’t understand as much, then again, by the time Shaheena was tweleve she had a little sister, and most of Nila’s time and effort was spent looking after Gul.
Not that Shaheena minded. She liked haveing the responsibility of an older sister having to look after Gul some nights. She appriciated Mikeal much more because of it.
It also made her forget. But it scared her that one day she’d loose control with Gul there and she’d hurt her baby sister. She couldn’t stand that.
Then, come fourteen, it happened again. This time in her high school, while she was surrounded by people, calling for a fight. Calling for blood.
She was one of the more popular girls in her year. She attracted a lot of people to her because she was so friendly, and genuinely so.
She was clever, knew it and didn’t play it down. She was on the debate team, science clubs and helped out in library occasionally. At the same time she was on the netball team, helped out with basket ball occasionally (they they really needed a fast player- she was too short to be in most of the game), gymnastics team and even cheerleading because of her love of gymnastics.
She was severely loyal at the same time. Nadia was still her best friend, and that wasn’t about to change. She never had a boyfriend, though she had several offers for dates, she always turned them down with a smile and a light touch on the arm.
The only thing people didn’t understand about her was her hate for touch. She’d hug, but not for long. She would lay her hand on an arm, but then she’d snatch it back. Nadia noticed, but didn’t question it.
Yet it was because of the popularity, and the natoriousness of her lack of touch that attracted so many people to the scene.
It had all started simply because Shaheena started talking to a loose friend of her’s, Keith. The usual cheerleader’s dream boyfriend. Tall, blonde, blue eyed, well built, quarter back for the football team, popular. Downside- he was gay. Though just then, only Shaheena knew it. Simply because Keith knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t tell anyone, and they weren’t close enough for it to effect them. If anything, for the two of them, if brought them closer. Even though he was seventeen opposed to her fourteen years of age.

[Brokenhearts]

He had been talking to her about a party he had to go to. He hadn’t been sure he wanted to go.
“What would I do if I go?!” he moaned, as Shaheena ruffled through her papers and books, searching for her notes on her next english lit class. “They’ll all be getting drunk and trying to get laid! I hate getting drunk- and I’ll probably end up trying to make out with Mark.”
Shaheena looked at him, eye brows raised. “You can do so much better than Mark,” she stated simply, “smiling at her senior friend, “I mean sure he’s good looking- but he’s got the mentality of a child younger than my baby sister.”
Keith laughed. “Don’t mince your words do you girly.”
Shaheena shot him a cheesey grin, then went back to cursing her messy locker.
“I’ve got a solution for ya,” she announced suddenly, squatting to get down to the bottom of her locker.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t go.”
Keith sighed. “You don’t get politics, honey…”
Shaheena shook her head. “It’s not that complecated, and I don’t have to. Just don’t fecking go.”
“Luv… it don’t work like that. When a girl like Carol says ‘I’ve got a party tonight, can you make it?’ you say, ‘of coarse! What time? What place?’ not, ‘dunno… think I might be busy’!”
Shaheena paused, pulled out her folder (that was lodged under her P.E kit), looked up at him and shook her head. “Nope,” she admitted, “I don’t. And to be honest- I don’t want to. Really not my thing.”
“Says Miss. Popularity…”
Shaheena went a deep shade of red, trying to hide her face. She didn’t like admitting she was popular, even though that much was fairly obvious. She half snathched her bag back from Keith as he chuckled at her lbush. “Meh…” she slammed the locker shut and leaned against it looking at him. “So go… and don’t stay long. Look bored the whole time.”
“I will be bored the whole time!”
Shaheena’s blush faded as she grinned. “Then fuck off and go visit some real mates. And everyone’ll end up ditching the party- coz you’re the quarter back and what you say… goes.”
Keith’s turn to blush. The fact that he was modest went against almost every chilché in the book about jocks. Whoch was why Shaheena had more time for him.
“But who would I go visit?! They’re all at the party.” The only people Keith seemed to hang out with was the type of person who was fairly into the IT crowd, all of whom would be at this ‘party’.
Before Shaheena could come up with a reply, Kieth started speaking again.
“Hey- do… you still need help on your history assignment?” he asked, some what shyly. He did know that her parents weren’t all too keen on her having male friends as it was, an older friend (male) may not have gone down well.
“Seriously?!” she asked, her trade mark grin back again, he nodded, “I really do! I’m gonna fail it. THANK YOU!” she hugged him round the middle tightly, then let go very suddenly looking unusually alarmed, as he laughed at her over the top grin and reaction. He didn’t know it but in reality, Shaheena had most of the work done, all that she needed was to piece it together. All the same, she wasn’t about to let him be stranded with insane bordem for the rest of the evening.
He wrapped his arms round her shoulders quickly, knowing her usual rwaction to be touched. “It’s a date, girly.”
The parted as the bell went, signeling fourth period.
Come lunch time, Shaheena was faced with the furious, fake tanned, bleach blone, fumming face of Sophmore popularity- Carol Woods.
“Uh… hi? Carol…? Something you wanted?” Shaheena was confused. The feelings of dislike between the two girls were mutual and no secret. They kept out of each others way, and were more often than not fairly civil towards each other.
“You got a date with Kieth,” she demanded.
“Keith R or Keith T? Coz Renolds is a nasty piece of shi-”
“Thompson, Khan! Thompson!”
“Oh… that Keith.” Carol’s steady green glare was unyeilding. Shaheena gave up trying to annoy her. She didn’t to fight. She didn’t like fights and was never any good at them. Never had been.
“No, sweetie, I don’t,” though patronizing, she was good at, “firstly, I don’t do dates. To much hasssle and very boring. Second, he’s just helping me with some work. Third- EW! YUCK! GROSS! That’s honestly so WRONG! He’s what is known as a FRIEND. Boys and girls can be friend you know. And that is just…” Shaheena shuddered visably. She and Kieth were friends, and even if he wasn’t gay she’d have said “ew”.
Carol just stared at her, as did the rest of the popular group of girls (at least a third of whom were on the cheerleading squad). Keith was the so called “regulation hot guy” of the school. Someone saying it was wrong to think of him in such a way was rarely heard from, unless it was from the social out casts. And Shaheena was by no means a social out cast.
“You got it? Good, now, I need my lunch.” She attempted to push past. Next thing she knew a slim, surprisingly strong hand, had gripped her upper arm, long sharp, manicured nails stuck into her skin painfully. She let out a small speek in pain.
“Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you,” hissed Carol, loathing spiking her words.
Shaheena didn’t quite understand why Carol was acting so angry towards her. Shaheena was almost natorious for not wanting a relationship, where as Carol was just as known as being an easy one to get off with.
“Sorry, I didn’t know you still had something to say,” said Shaheena politely, pushing her hand away from her and turning to face her, “what did you want to say?”
Carol frowned. “Are you… mocking me?!”
Surprise graced the younger girl’s features. “No,” she insisted, “you said you weren’t finished- what did you want to say?”
The frown deepened. Then she tossed her hair back, took a seemingly relaxed stance (but Shaheena had witnessed to many fights between females to know that she was poised for attack) and she glanced at her followers.
Already a small crowd of people had gathered around them, noticing the discord between Shaheena and Carol, Nadia amongst them, having gotten confused as to why her friend was late.
“You know… all these… half casts are the same…” a collective intake of breath and several “oooohs” from the crowd, it got larger much faster after that comment. Shaheena simply caught Nadia’s eye and the two shared an understanding wink.
“Care to explain?” curiosity ringing through Shaheena’s voice.
It was Carol’s turn to be surprised. “Well- you all seem to think your better than us coz you got two. And you always look down at us!”
“Hummm… I haven’t noticed… well, seeing as I’m actually fully Pakistani, I wouldn’t know what it’s like to be a… ‘half caste’… though I think the prefered term is mixed race. So, please, don’t be insulting.”
It was all Carol could do to keep her lofty stance as her overly lip glossed mouth hung open. Laughter started through still growing crowd as Carol fought for what to say, and get the upper hand back.
Though Shaheena was starting to wander if she should have perhaps just stepped off like most people did. Maybe then, she would never have found out so much about herself so early.
Instead of saying anything, Carol stalked forewards and slapped Shaheena hard across the face, using her nails slightly, scratching her opponants cheek.
The crowd hushed as Shaheena touched her face gingerly.
“That’s for mocking me.” SLAP. “And that’s for existing,” Carol sneered to see another line of blood down the opposite cheek.
“Back off, Woods,” snarled Shaheena, seeing blood on her finger tips, her worries of loosing control coming back to her, “don’t make me hurt you.”
Chants of ‘fight! Fight!’ were starting up and Nadia was being pushed away from the circle formed round the pair. Shaheena was on her own.
“Oh what could you do. You’re just a teachers pet!”
Shaheena shrugged. “Better a teacher’s pet than a whore.”
“WHAT?!”
“You heard me, sweetheart. Don’t mess with me, Woods- I will hurt you.”
“Oh sure.”
The chants for a fight got louder and louder. It was getting to Shaheena. Getting to her adrenaline. She knew she had to get out of there.
“You teacher’s pet… you would never even be able to hurt a twig!”
Shaheena was dying to tell her that the insult was pathetic, but she didn’t dare. She had to leave the fight. “Carol, just… leave me alone.”
“Why should I? You mocked me, no one mocks me and no one steals my boyfriend.”
Shaheena messaged her temples. Something was building up inside her. Like static. Like some form of energy. She couldn’t place it. She couldn’t make it go away.
“Keith ain’t you boyfriend. He’s single as far as I know.” Fighting the energy inside her was getting almost impossible. Almost unbareable. The adrenaline in her veins was pumping round her body, pounding her her chest, blood pounded in her ears. Urging her on. Begging her to loose this… this energy inside her. ‘Make it stop!’ she pleaded, ‘make it stop! Make it go away!’
“After tonight, that will change…”
Even through her pain and agony, Shaheena managed to laugh. She couldn’t help it. The disillusioned girl was so rediculous, she had to laugh. It did not help her in any way. It made everything worse.
“What’s so funny, teachers pet,” sneered Carol, “still mocking me?” She walked towards the younger girl yet again.
“Just leave me ALONE!” Shaheena threw her hands out in desperation to keep the girl away from her. All of the extra energy left her body. It was relased. Those who caught it, said afterwards it was like a transucent bubble, with electricty surrounding it. No one could place it’s origion or why it was created. But they did know it came from somewhere near Shaheena. And everyone saw the effects.

[Brokenhearts]

Carol was hit in the chest full on, and thrown back into the crowd. Those behind her were stubbled back with the force of the burst of energy. Carol herself had lost coniousness, and seemed to have trouble breathing, her skin becoming grey and lifeless, her eye libs fluttering weakly.
Shaheena on the other hand was just as tired. She too slumped to the floor, staring, in complete and utter horror at what she had done. And she knew she had done it. No one could say it wasn’t her fault.
She wanted to hurt Carol. She wanted to get her away from her. But she didn’t want to hurt her so much.
People backed away from Shaheena slightly, although the silence was still deafening to Shaheena’s ears. She longed to hear the accusations they would throw at her. The cursing, the insults, and slander. Anything! Absolutely anything! But the silence that engulfed the hall.
She stumbled to her feet, her breathing deep, her pulse racing, her blood pumping faster than ever. The adrenaline still coarsing through her. But no more of that alien energy was left inside her.
“Call an ambulence,” she croaked, swaying on her feet, but no one stepped forewards to catch her, or help her keep balance. Even Nadia kept away, staring at her friend in a new light, “call a fucking ambulance and get her to a hospital.”
She glared round at her peers, accepting the accusing faces. She knew that was all she would get if she stayed there. The glares and such- that was her future. She wasn’t one of them any more.
The second she lost control was the second she lost control of her life.
“CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE,” she yelled at them, scaring them slightly, this small fourteen year old girl seemed to hold more power just then than anyone else, “DO YOU WANT HER TO DIE?!”
She choked back a sob, and ran. Shoving people away from her as she did.
She ran.
Through the halls, out the front entrance, ignoring the calls from the teachers and the few friends that hadn’t known about her incident, she ran.
On to the main street, on to the road. Cars swerved away from her, honking at her. People shouted at her as she passed.
She heard none of it. She saw none of it.
All she saw was the blur her tears created. All she heard was the distorted pounding of her feet on concrete.
She ran out on a final road, almost to her house. A car honked and screeched hard. All the same it hit her legs, but only enough to make her stumble. She whirled round and fixed the female driver with a hard stare. Just then, she couldn’t careless who was in the wrong.
The dark skinned, white and black haired female stared back at her, almost in surprise.
Swollowing hard, Shaheena was forced to slow down her pace. Her left leg bruised from the impact of steel on flesh. She limped onto the side walk, and limped the rest of the way home.
As she pushed the door open, she stumbled into the family room, and colapsed to the sofa. Emotionally and physically exhausted beyond anything she understood. Completely deaf to her mothers angry statemeant and worried words of her brother.
Finally- she passed out.
It was more than her body could handle.

[Brokenhearts]

She didn’t leave her room for a month.
Locked in solitude. Staring into space. Reading. Listening. Washing. Tidying. Only just eating.
Anything, but leaving her room and talking. Talking meant comunicating with the outside world. That world she was no longer a part of. She didn’t want to be. It was her that cut herself off from everything.
Her family found out about the incident. All they knew from the school was that Shaheena had hit another pupil very violently, and put her in hospital. But the reaction to what she had done, they all knew it was something so much worse than that.
Shaheena hated to be alone, and now she was cutting herself away from everyone, because of what had happened. What ever it was- it had to be terrible.
No one but her family had tried to contact her, save for Keith who had wanted to hear her side of the story. Nadia had kept her distance, and so had her mother.
The only thing Shaheena had to say on the matter, even to herself, was ‘it’s better… then I can’t hurt them too…’ Though she was sad to have lost the only friend to have known her through all her changes. She saw it as Nadia keeping herself safe from harm.
In that time, Shaheena’s energy boosts became more and more frequent. She’d wake up during the night needing to do something. That static over dose of energy built up inside her, putting her through agony and pain. Every so often she;d prodice a similar bubble to that she had made to attack Carol. However, these were much smaller, and did nothing but hover in the air then soak back into Shaheena.
She was far to scared to try anything with it. She she jsut watched them, cursing them. They were the embodyment of her torment, and she hated them. Hated herself for creating them.
It was as though her life previously never existed. She had become with drawn, angry and spiteful. Even locked in her room she managed to hurt those closest to her.
She smacked Gul to keep her away from her room. She insulted Mikeal, telling him he was a useless older brother. She back chatted her mother, and slapped her father. When ever they tried to talk to her or some near her.
It was almost as though she was trying to separate herself entirely from the rest of the world. Her family was the only thing keep her linked to it, and even they were starting to loose hope, even just after a week.
The changes to the girl had been so sudden and so drastic, it was as though she knew of what ever it was before hand. Almost testing it to see what would happen, then deciding to detatch herself.
Which of coarse, was what she was doing.
Untill he came.
The bald man in the wheel chair. The dark skinned woman by his side. Not all that much older than Shaheen, if she really thought about it.
They came when Shaheena had come down stairs to get some lunch. Almost as though they knew she’d be there.
She sat, waiting for the cheese to melt in the grill on it’s bed of bread. She heard the bell go, but didn’t react. Not even with a blink. Her eyes were glued to the grill, ignorng the sudden pent up of energy surging through her again.
“You can’t see her,” snapped her mother’s accented, furious voice, “she won’t see anyone.”
She heard the soft mumbled of voice, then her mother’s again clearly.
“How do you know! She hasn’t-”
‘Shaheena’ a soft voice spoke in her mind, her eyes snapped up, and peered round. Curiosity took over. ‘That is your name isn’t it?’
She nodded, then realised what ever was ‘speaking’ to her couldnt see her. ‘Yes,’ she replied calmly, not at all finding a forgein voice in her thoughts unnerving, ‘who are you? What do you want? How do you know my name?’
The voice paused, then. ‘I am professor Xaivier. I am like you.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I am different.’
She snorted. ‘You make stupid bubbles that kill everyone? That doesn’t explain how you can get into my head.’
‘Why aren’t you surprised?’
‘Nothing surprises me.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Who are you?’
‘Come to the door child, you’ll see.’
Frowning, she got up, forgetting about her food, and stumbled her way to the door. By then the energy build up was getting almost unbareable again.
Her mother whirled round to see her daughter, standing in the hall. She looked pale from the lack of sun light already. The bags under her eyes were deep and dark. Her clothes were messy and unclean. Her hair unkept and dirty. But for the first time in ages, she looked vaguely humane. She didn’t look out in disgust.
“Meera Jaan,” her mother sounded confused, “what-”
“Who’s at the door?” she interrupted, not at all rudely. Her curiosity was obvious.
“A man saying he knows about you. About what you can do.”
“What’s his name?”
“He says he’s professor Xaivier.”
Shaheena cracked the smallest sadest smile Shaheena had seen for a long time. But it was a smile nontheless and that was all that matter. She smiled in return.
“Can I talk to him?” she asked, quietly.
“I don’t see why not,” Nila was reluctant, but couldn’t see any harm in letting her daughter see them. They didn’t appear to be dangerous.
She stepped aside to admit the bald man in a wheel chair and his beatiful young carer it seemed.
As Shaheena fixed her eyes on the woman, she recognised her as the driver of the car who bumped her leg. Her face relaxed, as she turned her head to look at the professor.
Sitting in his wheel chair, his bald head reflected the light. His face was barely lined, but his inquizative and intellagent blue eyes indicated more years than one would have first thought. His kindly face relaxed into a smile was a strange comfort to the girl so scared of herself. His whole being emitted kindness and reassurance.
“Come into the living room,” she offered politely, her voice slightly croaky from lack of use. After being so used to being excersived so often normally, a week of rest had done bad things to it.
“Thank you,” the proessor bowed his head slightly, seeming to understand that she had not contacted anyone from the outside world since the incident. He and the woman entered the living room as Nila asked them if they wanted anything to eat of drink.
“Just some tea, if you wouldnt mind,” the professor seemed almost ill at ease asking for anything, but well practised at accepting such hospitalities. “May we talk to your daughter?”
Nila looked between him and the dishevlled figure of Shaheena. She was sitting on the cusions and matresses they used for watching the television, observing the vistors without a word. This wasn’t the girl she knew. Nila still loved her, but it wasn’t the happy bubbley Shaheean Khan she knew that wouldn’t stop asking questions.
“Of coarse,” she nodded, this man could do no harm, and she would be just in the next room. She left, closing the door behind her, wandering what else was instore for Shaheena in her so far quite calm life.
“Shaheena Khan, am I right?” quiried the professor.
“Yes sir,” she replied instantly, “and I’m fourteen years old. I’ll be fifteen in six months time. Why did you do that?”
“Do what, child?”
“Go into my head. Why? Shouldn’t someone’s mind be their… sanctuary or something?”
He chuckled. “You read too much. Yes the mind is a sanctuary, but it should not be used as a den to hide from the world.” Shaheena flushed under his watched knowing gaze. “There are times when one with a power as I, must breech the norms and penatrate the mind on an induvidual. One that seems lost.”
“Like me.”
He nodded slowly, gravely. “One such as yourself.”
“Please don’t do it again,” ever politful child that she was, “I like to think there is one place where ever I go that where no one can get to me. Even if it means that’s not entirely true.”
She examined Xaivier closer. Though stuck in a wheel chair, he reminded her strongly of a lion. An older one, the ones that seemed to watch of his pride rather than be an active member, but a lion none the less. Old, watching, fierce. An old fighter of sorts, but no longer able to do it. Though he appeared to know alot, his blue eyes reflected a sort of thirst for knowledge. Though what kind was unable to be desifered.
“Child,” he started again, then paused, watching her curious features, “do you know what you are?”
She shook her head. “I want to say freak,” she admitted, “but this feels too normal for it to be freakish. I know I’m not human.”
The woman suddenly spoke. Her voice slightly lilted with an accent. “Of coarse your human,” her voice so rushed that it had evidently exploded from her. “I mean,” she started properly, “we are human we just… we jumped ahead slightly in the evolutionary change. Each of us differently. It’s becomign more and more frequent now, or else just more noticeable.”
Shaheena nodded, slowly. “So… why does it feel normal to me?”
“Because it’s always been with you- just not… so obvious.” Her smile was small and sweet. Shaheena allowed a small one back.
“How did you know?” she asked suddenly, “about my power- how did you know?”
The proessor took over again. “I am not sure of what you… difference is, becuase of mine, I am able to tell mutant from normal.”
“Is that what I am? A mutant?”
There was a slight hestiation, then he nodded.
‘Don’t be ashamed of what you are… it is a part of you.’
“I’m not ashamed,” she said out loud, “why should I be? I’m scared of it. I don’t know it. I don’t understand! But I’m not ashamed. My parents always told me never be ashamed of who you are.”
“I don’t think they meant about being a mutant,” the woman pointed out.
“Of coarse not!” Shaheena’s coarse laughter sounded through the room, but it was genuine. The roughness came from her unused throat. “But the same still applies.”
“You understand much more than I though, miss Khan.”
“My name is Shaheena,” she told him. She serveyed them again, this time with less intensity. It seemed more to be sizing them up. Seeing if she could tell if she could trust them just yet. It wasn’t clear. “You can be here just for tell me that,” she stated suddenly, “what is it?”
“As I said,” began Xaivier, “I am a professor-”
“I was wandering what you were a professor of,” chuckled Shaheena, then clapped her hands over her mouth, looking shocked. “I’m so sorry!” she said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
It was mutants turn to laugh.
“You are still under going some changes, my dear,” he smiled benevolently at her, “it is unsurprising you do things that you do not usually do. Especially after I entered your thoughts. Now- might I continue?”
“Yes please sir.”
“Now, I have started up a school, it has only been going on for the past four years, but already we have a rather large population. All these children are gifted, such as yourself. It is a school for the gifted and talented.” He paused, Shaheena nodded, indicating her understanding for the paraphrasing. “Some are runaways, others were sent, other we found. But they are all the same. Not entirely accepted by society, and mostly seen as freaks. Some are scared of the so-called normal human beings because of what has happened to them. There we teach normal subjects, such as english, maths, history and so on. But in addition we teach these youngsters how to cope with their powers. We tell them of past mutants.”
“A school to learn how to live really.”
“More than that. We are a home to all mutants. Those who attended and those who haven’t, adults and children a like.” He looked at Shaheena hard. “We were wandering if you would like to attend this school. Learn with those like you.”
There was another pause. A grin streched across her face, she almost hugged the professor. “Yes!” she cried.
“I am glad,” his benelovent smile was back as Nila entered the room, “I will return in three days time, you must discuss with with your family.”
The professor positioned his chair to be able to leave, seeing that Nila had neglected to bring the tea with her. As he passed the stunned woman, he held up a card for her to take. “Should you have ay quiries, do not hesitate to contact us. But please, do not tell a soul out of this family where Shaheena might be going.”
As the door closed behind the two mutants, Shaheena looked up at her mother. She had never looked so happy in her life. There was excitmeant, anticapation, joy, happiness, freedom, all alight in the fourteen year olds eyes.
“Hey, ama,” she started, Nila seemed almost scared, but Shaheena’s voice, so care-free relaxed her a little, “I’m a freak. I’m freak and I don’t care.”

[Brokenhearts]

part 2 (sorta..)

Not too much was known about Angelo Fraioli. Only child growing up, but never bored. He was constantly surrounded by cousins and those who were as good as cousins. The close knit Itallian area knew everything there was to know about everyone else. More likely than not, they were related to one another too.
Outwardly, even as a child, Angelo was a little odd. He didn’t like being aroud too many other children, he would get distracted from games easily and almost wander off into a trance. He did not make friends easily, but was still fiercely loyal to those he considered family. Once taking a battering for a cousin who stupidly called an older boy a name.
He had a loving family- dispite loosing his mother at the age of eighteen months. His father looked after him and was severely protective of him. His uncles taught him all out side knowledge of the world and his aunts babied him.
However, not all was what it seemed. Mafia was a large part of Fraioli life. All five brothers, including Angelo’s father, were appart of the mob group since they were sixteen. Throughly intergrated into it, their families too were expected to carry on in that way. For a while it seemed that the tradition would be continued.
Angelo was trained from a young age how to respect his elders, of his religion, how to defend himself. Even after his little encounter at the age of ten, he was continually taught how to work a gun, how to attack with a knife, how to act. His reactions were lightening, his presance something to be reconed with and his behaviour anything but angellic.
Yet since the age of ten, Marco (his father) had told him that he was not to get involved with any Mafia work. Fearing of a repeat. Fearing to loose his only son and the only reminder of his wife, the woman he loved.
At the age of ten, Angelo was kidnapped and held hostage by a rivel gang. One who wanted to scar and maime them severely. Knowing Marco Fraioli loved his son and was so protective over him, they knew without a doubt that he would try and get him back, and so threatened the boss, not Marco, with Angelo’s life. If the boss lost Marco, he was far more vulnerable.
They didn’t realise that the so called Mr. T was as a second father to Angelo, and was hurt just as badly as Marco when Angelo disappeared. They worked as brothers, as family as well as friends to get him back.
In the end, Angelo was returned and the Mafia lost nothing. Angelo, however, was scared for life. The more unforunate thing was, it was litterally rather than mentally. From his hair line, cutting down the left side of his face, through his eye and over his jaw line was a pale livid scar. It renered him blind in his left eye, and made him angrier with the world for a very long time.
The difference with Angelo Fraioli was that mutations in the genes were never uncomen. If anything, the child had been expecting something to happen for a long time. It wasn’t on his father’s side, though he had grown up with it through with his youngest brother being a telekinises, it was his mother’s side. She had telepathy, and very strong telepathy, to the point that she could pick up on memories and past thoughts. She rarely used her ‘gift’, as Marco called it, only in times of need, or if the Mafia needed information. In her sector at least, they didn’t need to resort to intimadation or torture. They would occasionally beat the person up, to keep that myth alive, however, Maria would always be on hand to get the truth out.
So all in all, Angelo was prepared for some form of mutation, as most of his mother’s side of the family had some kind of telepathy, telekinesis or some form of empathy.
However, nothing prepared him for what he was capable of. At twelve he found he was capable of cummunicating without speaking. Though he he tried to recieve answers, he could only do so with their consent. He felt rather pathetic at the time, hoping to have his mother’s powers.
Marco comforted him, telling him most powers don’t fully develop for a long time. He was still rather disappointed, but kept it under wraps, and continued with his training in martial arts and weaponary.

[Brokenhearts]

It wasn’t untill he was thirteen did he descover what he was truly capable of.
Though badly scarred after the kidnapping, he regained his confidence (though remained throughly shy) very quickly. People soon learned that his scar was only skin deep. Many girls in the area, even at that young age, though him handsome because of his classic good looks and uniquely muscular physique for his age.
It was hardly surprising that at a Valentine’s Day dance at his high school, he not only had a date- but several other girls after him. The surprising thing was, at least to his family, was that he had yet to kiss a girl. Most of his father’s family were natorious players, from at least the age of tweleve onwards.
The majority of the night was taken up by dancing, messing around, drinking or eating. He wasn’t all that attracted to his date, even though she was within the more popular circles of the school. She was an air head- and Angelo had little time for air heads. As he didn’t talk much, he preffured the company of those who had oppinions and liked to talk. It countered his own quiet nature.
Lucy, his date, however, chatted constantly about clothes, make up, celebraties and her friends. Bitching about them to be perfectly blunt.
By the end of the evening he had shouldered her off on one of his older more superficial cousins (Lorenzo Fraioli was fourteen and well known in the school as a player- but girls still tended to like him, Lucy was no exception). Instead, a conversation was struck up between him and the oddly charming Faith Harvey.
“Uh- excuse me,” came the demanding, near angry voice, of the high school reject, thirteen years old and far to opinionated for the likes of Lucy and her friends, making her an instant out cast, “can you pass me the pepsi? I’m too fucking short to reach it.” She grinned for a moment at him. He blinked at her in surprise. He knew her vaguely from his english, drama and math classes. He hadn’t been expecting her to come.
She frowned and waved at his eyes. “Helloooo,” she teased, raising an eye brow at him, “Fraioli! Dude! You awake?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled, “sorry…” He reached over and grabbed the bottle and passed it to her.
“You’re really out of it,” Faith commented dryly, picking up a cup, and pouring the dark drink into the vessle, she pushed her dyed brown hair away from her face, a strand of red falling into her face. “Why’d you come anyway?” She leaned against the table, looking at him expectantly.
Faith was out going and friendly, dispite her label of school outcaste. She had often spoken to Angelo out of class, but not for very long. He was rather surprised that she was speaking to him, he suspected that she thought he was one of the bimbo school leaders- like his cousins had been.
“Family expectations,” he rolled his eyes, smiling very slightly.
Faith laughed, attracting a small amount of attention. It was certainly odd to see a Fraioli speaking to someone such as herself.
“Oh we get alot of that,” she stuck her tongue out, reveling a piecing, in disgust, “that’s the only reason I’m here! My mother thinks I’m trying to be anti-social.” She shook her head. “Silly woman- as much as I love her, she is very deluded.”
“Why are you talking to me?” he asked bluntly.
She stared at him and shrugged, getting up. “If you don’t want me to- I can leave,” she told him, turning away.
“No,” he said calmly, tugging on the sleeve of her long shirt, “I was just… kinda… surprised.”
Faith looked at him and chuckled. He had never realised how much her face lit up when she smiled. He had never realised much about her- he was too stuck up with his Mafia family to take notice of the normal people like Faith.
“You don’t talk much, Fraioli,” she stated, kindly, “and Lucy looked as though she was slowly killing you with the chatter.”
He put his head to one side, letting his honey brown eyes ask the question. He didn’t like talking.
Faith sighed, and leaned against the table next to him. “I’m in about half your classes, I know the teacher never picks you for a reason, and I’m not talking about the one on your face.” Angelo was surprised, yet again, not many would talk so freely about his scar, let alone not look at it while talking to him, “you’re not a talker. But you’re clever. And I’m not exactly stupid. I know that. I’m not modest. So I just decided to talk- I’m bored, you look like your about to die of bordem. And talking cures that, Fraioli, even if you don’t like to do it.”
“It’s Angelo.”
“Sorry?”
“My name- it’s Angelo. So you don’t get me confused with my cousins.”
She laughed again. “Trust me, Angelo, that won’t be happening any time soon.”
There was only an hour or two left of the dance. But he spent that time listening to Faith’s rants and discussions. Occasionally protesting quietly or giving his own oppinions. But he prefurred to let her do the talking. She did alot of it and did it well.
He found himself liking the girl more and more. She was funny, oppinionated, blunt and by no means an air head. She was dressed fully, in tight dark blue jeans, a long sleeved, button up, loose shirt (loosely fitte), trainers on her feet and dark make up round her eyes. As opposed to the tight clothing on the still shaping thirteen year old girls. Lucy for example dressed in a tight pink shirt and short blue denim light blue mini skirt and four inch high heeled pink sandles.
At the end of the night, Angelo offered to walk her home. She grinned at him and joked he might get interrogated by her father.
“I’m used to interrogations,” he joked, “mafia business perminantly.” It was very well known about his family.
She scowled slightly, but let the comment slide. He caught the look but said nothing. He had gathered from her rants that she didn’t like the idea of gangs and the like. But he couldn’t help the way he had been brought up.
She lived surprisingly near to where he did, two streets away in fact. All the way there she still messed around, joking and laughing with him. Only getting a smile out of him, but his short sharp answers were enough to know he was amused.
On reaching her door, he walked her up the stairs of the block of flats.
“You, Angelo, have honestly shocked me,” she stated, rounding on him, looking him straight in the eye, “I had you down as a bit of a jock…” he coloured very slightly, barely knwoing himself if it was anger or embaressment. “But you’re not all bad.” She chuckled a little. “Becareful though, Lucy’ll start rumours by tomorrow.”
He shrugged, showing he didn’t care.
“See you tomorrow- Fraioli,” she teased, pushing the key into the lock.
He reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back. “It’s Angelo.”
Faith looked up at him, still smirking rather than smiling. “Yeah I know,” she told him. She looked at his eyes, switching between his seeing and blind one. The reached up, to kiss him it seemed. He stepped back slightly, but didn’t loosen his grip.
It was her turn to blush, she turned away, and tried to pull away from him, but he didn’t let go.
“Were you going to kiss me?” he asked, again as blunt as ever.
“Yes,” she replied, staring at the ground.
“Faith.”
“Mmm?”
“Look at me.” She sighed heavily and looked at him. “I’m a mutant you know.”
She shrugged. “That scar doesn’t ma-”
“I’m not talking about that. I mean…” he sighed, then sent her a thought quickly. ‘I mean like this.’
She grinned. “I know that. Everyone knows about your mother. She helped everyone. And my brother’s a telporter.”
“Oh...” he seemed rather taken a back. “And you don’t care?”
“I just tried to kiss you,” she stated bluntly, “do you honestly think I care?”
It was his turn to grin. He pulled her closer and this time initiated the kiss himself. She smiled against it for a moment, and so did he.
Then he wasn’t there any more. He could feel his body still reacting to the kiss, but his mind was quite litterally else where.
He could see Faith, but she was older. Though not by much. She was mayb twenty or twenty one. A gorgeous young woman was pitch black hair down to her waist. Her make up artfully done, a tattoo running up her arm and a small one on the edge of her collar bone.
She was sitting on a parked moto bike. A sleek, beatiful, black and blue machine. Gleeming in the dull lighting of the parking lot. It was late night. Pitch black. She was looking round as though she was waiting for someone. She heaved a sigh, and produced a packet of ciggarettes and a lighter from her leather riding pants. She put the white stick in her mouth and bent over lighting it up. Once lit, she leaned back, putting the lighter away again, taking a long drag from the cigarette between her lips.
There was a gun shot. She lept in the air, the white stick seeming to glow in the darkness, still between her red lips. Another shot was heard, this time much closer. This time more shouting.
She cursed in a sweet, mature voice. She swung her leg over, assumingly her, bike and kicked away the stick that kept it stable. She turned the key in the engine, cursing again when it didn’t start. She shot a scared look over her shoulder. A car came into sight. A group of three men in it- all of them leering. One of them armed with a gun.
The bike revved into life, she squeesed the accellerater, and shot foreward. The next thing Angelo knew, there was a shot fired and an almighty BANG! His consiousness, as it were, swung round and saw the bike flip in mid air, almost in slow motion.
Another shot was fired. It hit the gas tank, and explosion took place. The bike burst into flame as it came crashing down to earth.
Angelo stared on at the wreackage of the bike. Of the near lifeless pathetic body of Faith who struggled to prop herself up. The explosion had just missed her as she jumped off her flipping bike. The car screeched to a hault just before her. One man got out- the one armed with a gun.
“You always were pretty from this angle,” he told her, bending down, to look at her more closely, moving her over onto her back. Her face was blackened by soot and smoke, her hair straggley with sweat from the wreackage. “Didn’t you know you should always wear a helmet?”
“Go to hell,” she croaked, a hand going to her side.
“Save me a place,” snarled the man, standing straight, his gun arm out streched.
Faith closed her eyes, her face relaxed, and she smiled. “Bring it, rookie,” she murmered.
Another bang, and she was dead. Angelo was thrown back into the presant. It could only have been a moment since he had started kissing this thirteen year old Faith. He let go gently and stared at her, finding himself having taken hold of her hand.
She smiled at him shyly. “See you tomorrow Angelo,” she smirked, scarily similar to the smirk she gave that stranger and backed away into the house.
Angelo stared after her, then tore off home. Unable to believe what he just saw. His heart was pounding hard in his chest, his body covered in cold sweat.
It hadn’t been a dream, you didn’t dream of that when kissing a girl. It had been far too realistic. Too real. And she had died. He had seen Faith Harvey die. Mostl deffinetly not a in peaceful fasion.
He colpased into his living room, on the sofa staring up, looking terrified.
His father looked up startled hearing the door slam. But no usual short greeting from his teenaged son. He knew immediately something was wrong.
He got up and made his way to the family room, seeing his son staring up at the cieling. Fear plain to see, and that had not happened since his kidnapping.
“Angelo?” Marco frowned, “eh- Angelo?”
Angelo turned to look at his father, swollowing hard. “I… I think I just found out my… my mutation,” he stammered. He told his father everything he saw, and even described the men to him.
Marco didn’t for a minute think to say that his son had simply been dreaming or it was some strange twist of nature, a trick of the mind. He knew all too well it was a mutation. And it had happened because he had touched this girl.
He moved foreward to comfort his son. He hugged him tightly, but made sure he didn’t touch his bare skin. Just in case it was how he suspected. Marco needed help, and he knew just who to get it from.
Mean while, Angelo stayed home for a week, hearing nothing from anyone. Not even his cousins. He had called in sick to school, for them not to worry, all he wanted to do was come to terms with this tramatising ‘gift’.
He no longer saw this change in his humanity as a gift. But a curse. He did not want to see people die. He liked to see people being happy and alive. But he could only see them die. So far he had only seen Faith die- and he couldn’t help but think that she did not deserve that fate. He had only gotten to know her for two hours- but still he knew she should be destined for something more than that.

[Brokenhearts]

At the end of the week he stayed home, he had a visit, from a certain professor Xaivier and the beautiful Ororo Munroe.
Angelo sat perfectly still on the sofa, eyes fixed on the floor. He was fully aware that Xaivier had the capability to go through his thoughts, memories and more. He could not stand it. He liked the fact that he didn’t have to show what he was thinking. With Xaivier, there was on chance with that.
‘At least it saves me from talking,’ he thought mildly, full aware of his quietness.
His gaze ran over Ororo. Her white and black, stiff hair, framed her face, her brown eyes watching him. He didn’t like her much either.
“Well master Fraioli,” said Xaivier finally, “you have a gift I have not seen for a very long time.”
He said nothing, just allowed his eyes to meet the icey blue of the proffessor.
“It appears you have the ability to foresee certain situations in a person’s life.”
“I see how they die,” he stated dryly.
Xaivier hesitated, then noticed the look of indifference on the boy’s face. He had seen far too much to be lied to, or even have the truth sugar coated. He didn’t appriciate it. He was a son of the mafia, and because of this, he understood much more that maybe one his age should have.
“Yes,” he sighed, “though what brings on these visions I don’t know yet.”
“I touched her,” he told him, “it started when I kissed her. I hadn’t touched anyone’s bare skin all night- but I touch her when I kissed her.” It was more to himself than anyone else.
“I know. I suspect…” he paused, “I suspect it happens when ever you touch a person’s skin.”
Angelo simply nodded. That’s what he had thought as well. As much as he thought, he couldn’t remember touching anyone all night, not untill he kissed Faith.
“Angelo,” said Xaivier softly, Angelo’s honey eyes snapped to his again, “I know you’re scared-”
“I’m not, sir,” he stated.
Xaivier frowned. It was true. He was not scared at all. It was unusual. “Do you want to stay here?” Angelo frowned in confusion. “What I mean to say… we have a school for those like us. Those who have special gifts that set us aside from the rest of humanity. It’s a safe haven for all mutants, whether you have studied there or not. It’s a boarding school, so you will never have to deal with the prejudices from humans around here.”
Angelo shook his head. “No sir, I don’t want to.”
“But-”
“No,” that single word was quiet, but spoken so harshly that it had hard to believe it came from a thirteen year old’s mouth, “this is my home. I belong here. With my dad. With my family. I have friends here, and this is a central for mutants as it is. My mother’s family were all mutants. The girl, the one who brought my… ‘gift’ to light, her brother is a teleporter.” He paused. “I won’t leave professor. Not unless I have to.”
Xaivier nodded, understanding. “As you wish, mast Fraioli,” he accepted, “but know if you ever need any help…”
Angelo bowed his head, grinning sourly. He showed his guests and helpers out of the door, making sure he wore gloves as he shook their hands. It was bad enough seeing how Faith would die. He didn’t want to know how anyone else would.
Angelo returned to school. The usual quiet boy he had been, but with an added depth. He now wouldn’t even touch his cousins, let alone anyone else. He point blank refused to play any contact sports. He came into school wearing gloves the whole time, which he refused to take off. His clothes covered his entire body, so no skin could be seen.
Oddly enough, Faith didn’t come near him anyway. She still greeted him sometimes and talked occasionally. If she was in a hurry she would shoot a smile in his direction but she never sought to find him. She never commented on the kiss they shared, and didn’t seem to want to.
Angelo was surprised, even a little hurt. He hadn’t known how he would deal Faith when he came back to school. He had never expected her to act in that fashion.
Over the next five years, Angelo detatached himself from the world more and more. Prefurring the world of books and the like. He didn’t like conversation, he prefurred doing things than talking them through.
He trained in his fighting and weaponary skills religiously. He intergrated himself much deeper into the life of the mafia, much to his father’s dislike. He’d take on smaller jobs. Spying mostly. As he got older, which he did fast, he became more involved with the fighting side of things. Often taking on smaller teenaged gangs.
He fought mercilessly, thought never killed. It was enough to get him a reputation as someone not to deal with. Heightened by the fact that he didn’t talk much.
To add to this was the fact that he was repeated arrested, for smaller charges and often cleared of the larger things such as arson. There was one point where he was suspected of murder. But they pretty soon figured out that even though he bruelly beat up rivels, he had not killed one of them and often left them in a good enough state to get home. Failing that, he’d get tham back to their head quarters himself. He was no murder.
Over those five years, he never got a girlfriend, though many had tried to ask him out or tempt him. He would only smirk at them, and turn away. He couldn’t be bothered with relationships, not untill he was ready he figured. He did not want to be hurt by the sight of any of them dying if he so much as tried to hold their hand, let alone kissing them. He saw no point.
Faith however, was the one girl that was always there. Their relationship was a hard one to come to understand. Though at thirteen she gave him the cold shoulder after the kiss, they became closer maybe six months after. They spoke more, well- she spoke to him, he listened and laughed or let out a quiet retort.
Sometimes they acted like some kind of married couple. She constantly straightened out his clothes when they got ruffled, sorted out his hurts when he came off worse than usual in a fight (even if he would make her wear some kind of gloves before he let her even come near him- just in case), even told him off- shouting, yelling even throwing things at him when he came back. He was more likely to come back to her’s than face his father first. But she’d always be there to comfort him when things went terribly. He constantly getting mad if she made plans with a boyfriend over him, taking it on himself if they hurt her to have them dealt with (he was arrested at fifteen for serious bodily harm to one) and keeping a close eye on her even having some of his people making she sure was ok.
However, there were times when it was obvious that they were good friends rather than anything more. The ammount of times Faith had tried to set Angelo up was rediculous. They way they acted round each other, teasing the whole time, half beating each other up the whole time.
There were times when Angelo would watch her and realise she was slowing become that beautiful woman he saw in that vision. Everyday she became more and more like her. Her face matured, her body developed, she started smoking, she started learning how to ride a bike at sixteen. Her smirk had become exactly the same as the one he had glimpsed. It sometimes became to hard for him to even look at her. Knowing her time was coming.
One day, when they had just turned seventeen, they were out together. Looking for a birthday present for her brother Peter. He noticed for the first time she had dyed her hair black rather than her usual brown.
He knew she hated her origional hair colour of dull dirty blonde, nearly mousey brown. She loved the dark brown, chocolate colour instead. It suited her much more.
“Faith…”
“Yeah, Angie?” she teased, looking at him from the latest Sonic game.
“You have black hair.”
She touched her hair in disgust. “Yeah I know,” she rolled her eyes, “mum got the wrong make, and it’s too dark.” She swung her long hair round to look at it better. She lifted it up and examined the dyed locks closely. “It’s not quite black is it?”
“It’s black,” Angelo told her, his voice tight.
“Damn… my mum’s such a rookie sometimes!”
Realisation hit Angelo like a ton of bricks. It hadn’t happened when she turned twenty or twenty one- it would be seventeen. He had never realised before how grown up she looked before. He was so used to being served alcohol and the like in shops or bars that he didn’t think it odd that they would to Faith either. He always saw her as seventeen, not any older. But many people had seen her thinking she was older- including his own family.
His cousin Lorenzo, the same one he had off loaded Lucy onto, had once commented he didn’t usually go for olcer women, but Faith was gorgeous. Angelo had replied, distractedly, that she was only seventeen. He had never thought anything of it till just that.
“Faith?”
“Yeah, baby?” she replied, deciding on an assassination game for the Wii5 (an older version than the latest WIRE2, but they couldn’t afford the newest stuff).
“When do you get your motobike?”
“Not till I’m twenty one,” she replied, handing the game to him, searching through her bag to find her purse.
That was a releif.
“But Dan’s lending me his next month for a bit, just so I can get used to it a little more.” Angelo nodded, thinking that perhaps he was wrong. He was after seeing the future and things change. Perhaps what he saw was simply a possibility. “It’s so beautiful! It’s almost not fair that the idiot was born before me!” Angelo chuckled, Dan was her cousin and the family was much richer. Dan was the rebel break away son, who often came down to stay with his favourite cousins and aunt.
“Have I shown you a picture yet?!” she added excitedly, as they made their way to the cashier. He shook his head. She produced her cell as the cashier lady called them up to pay. She gave him the cell telling him that it was the first picture in the ‘favourites’ file.
He couldn’t help but grin, her obsession was bikes was not without good reason. But it still surprised him that the outcaste thirteen year old had turned out to still be such a tom boy.
The happy grin faded as he looked at the bike. Sleek, beautiful, black and blue. Unmarred, unmarked. Streamline front, slim bodied. Twin large exhausts at the back and two seats craddled in the centre.
The same one from the vision.
He now had a count down to when his best friend would die.
What was worse was the fact that he didn’t know how to stop it.
“Amazing isn’t she?” said Fait happily, tugging on his leather jacket sleeve to pull him along.
“Drop dead gorgeous,” he admitted in a quiet tone, trying to hide the fact that he was terrified.
“Her name’s Hope, after our gran,” she added, then she chuckled, “she loved it when she saw it, reminded her of something she drove when she was younger.
He nodded quietly, and let Faith laugh and drag him to a clothes shop to find a presant for her mum too. His mind was far too occupied with the thought of her dying and not even realising it.
He set up even more watches over her after that. He wanted pictures of people she met up with, to find out if any of them were the man that was to shoot her. He wanted any information on them if they could get any.
For two weeks nothing came up. But Angelo did not relax. He couldn’t. If he could prevent Faith’s murder, he would do it. Even if it murder to the person to kill her.
Three days after her younger brother’s fifteenth birthday party, one of the spies came back looking furious.
“I think I know wha’s up wid dat girl,” he said angrily, his italian-american thicker than ever, “you know dat noo comer?”
Angelo nodded.
“Well, she’s seeing dat guy’s son. Five year older than ‘er.” He slammed a picture in front of him. “Lucus Walker. He’s been done for arson, SBH, attempted rape, ABH and attempted murder. The murder case fell through when the opposing lawyer’s main witness vanished. Arson was when he was fourteen, attempted rape at eighteen. The bastard’s a nasty piece of work.”
Angelo stared at the picture. It was of the man who was driving the car, not the man himself. From hearing a snippet of Walker’s track record, he wasn’t surprised he’d get someone else to do his dirty work. He probably wouldn’t want to risk being armed again. Not for a while at least.
“Associates?” he asked.
“We need pictures, but there are four main ones. They’re mostly about the same age- in they early twenties. Two have done time, one has only ever been charged- but released with a warning. He’s too clever to be arrested. The other one hasn’t been caught for anything, but we think he’d be the brains behind what ever they do.”
“Lots of information,” nodded Angelo, impressed.
“We need it. The fuzz are all pussy boys- they don know how shit works.” He rolled his eyes. “Once a ciminal always a fucking criminal.”
“Can you get me the pictures of his associates?”
“Sure thing, boss.” He grinned cheekily as he left.
“Thanks man,” added Angelo.
In reply, the other man gave him a small salute and a smile, and left.

[Ethan]

Broky, as I have said before, I really like your writing. You have this raw talent that flows naturally through the words you write. but, that doesn't mean you are perfect in this field....

Not to insult you at all, this is just some advice to make your writing better. I'll start with a pro, followed by a con, followed by a pro again...

The pro. you have a knack for writing conversations and the feelings that the characters are experiencing. Your words flow, there is no part that seems unnatrual or forced. You are also very creative, and your characters have depth.

The con. Your style of writing can seem bland for some people. Some of the phrases and sentences you use are simpler than they should be. But this is easilly fixed. If you have a moment, re-read a paragraph or page and add in some fancy metafores or similies or big elegant words. This will make your writing seem more professional and will improve it greatly.

Lastly, another pro....ummmmm......I used all the good pros in the first pro i said.....so.....you have a very pretty smile ;D